Most of Him
by Elfpen
Summary: The battle is over, the day has been won. The Green Death is dead, the three-hundred year long war has finally ended. But even the greatest of victories always come with cleanup, and sometimes it can be rather gruesome. Follows directly after the battle sequence in the movie. Rated for gore.
1. Chapter 1

The crowd was still cheering.

Stoick the Vast was not.

He wasn't sure his emotions had ever taken such turns until that day. He'd been through the rage, the guilt, the joy, the anxiety, the devastation, the relief, and now, Stoick knew fear.

He'd been so terrified that Hiccup was dead that after he found out he was _alive,_ he hadn't bothered to look down. He'd been drowning in relief and tears, and paid no mind to anything but the steady beat of his son's heart and the forgiveness in the Night Fury's eyes. So when Gobber came over to take a look and gave a sad, resigned, "Well, you know, most of 'im", it hadn't been what Stoick had expected.

That was when he'd looked down.

It was between one heartbeat and the next when he found his voice again, loudly. "Get the medic!" He roared to anyone who would listen. "The _medic!"_ When the crowd took too long to hear him, Gobber stepped into action.

"Di'in you hear yer own chief? Where's tha _physician? _I know we brough' one, I packed 'im on the boat meself!" He scanned the crowd, and turned his head to watch a shiver of movement growing nearer and louder to the front. A wiry Viking, slightly smaller than most, came elbowing his way through the crowd, jostling a slightly-burnt bag in his arms.

"Here, Gobber," he breathed.

"Go," the smith directed in a tone so serious it didn't sound quite right on him, "it's his leg," he told the medic quietly. The other man nodded and jogged to where Stoick still knelt over his son. As Gobber went to go join them, a hand grabbed his arm and he turned.

"Gobber, what's happened? What's wrong with Hiccup?" Astrid looked equal amounts hopeful and worried.

"He's hurt," was all he said, brushing her hand off and going over to where the medic was working and talking to Stoick quietly.

From where she stood, Astrid craned her neck in a hope to see what was happening. The other teens looked worried as well, but they stayed where they were. Astrid inched a bit closer, but wasn't sure if she should cross the empty space between the crowd and the downed dragon. She watched the chief, the medic, and the blacksmith as they spoke words she couldn't hear over a boy she couldn't see. After a while, the medic sighed and stood. Stoick looked up to him, and the medic sadly shook his head. He turned to walk back to the crowd, maybe for help, maybe for supplies, Astrid wasn't sure. There was blood on his hands. On his hands, his arms, his lap. _Blood_. Unable to think twice, Astrid ran over the scene.

"Hiccup!"

At the sound, Gobber and Stoick turned. Gobber, who was standing, stepped to intercept her. "No, Astrid, _don't_ get any closer, ye don't wan' ta-"

But she did get closer, and she froze at what she saw. Hanging off Stoick's lap, Hiccup's legs weren't right. His right leg was stained with blood. His left leg… it wasn't a leg anymore. It was red, _very_ red, liquidy, stringy red, with rips and a glimpse of hard whiteness that, when Astrid realized what she was looking at, made her go sick. Ruined leggings clung to the blood, and what skin she could see was smeared pink.

She didn't realize that she wasn't moving until Gobber came around and physically pulled her away.

"I _told_ you you don't want ta see, lass," he sighed.

"Wha-what happened?" She asked, voice more helpless that she could ever remember before. "What _happened_ to him?" She desperately tried to look over her shoulder, but Gobber kept pushing her back toward the crowd.

"I don't know, yet. Now stay _back_. We don' need any more people over there seein' tha' if we can help it." Gobber deposited Astrid by the rest of her classmates, who had been watching the exchange worriedly. As Gobber turned back, Astrid shot back at him,

"Well are you going to be able to _help him_?"

"I reckon so, bu'…" he looked over toward Hiccup, then back at the teens. "We won't be able ta save it." His eyes were saddened by memories of someone who knew doubly well what that meant. Astrid felt a shot of fear for Hiccup.

"What happened?" Snotlout.

"Did he get _hurt_?" "Will it _scar_?" The twins asked at the same time.

"Astrid, what was Gobber talking about, not saving 'it'?" Fishlegs was wringing his hands, and shot Astrid a worried look.

She watched the medic walk back towards the chief and his bloodied son. He was carrying a different bag than before, this one larger than the first. She wondered exactly what kind of instruments waited inside. "Get a fire going," she heard him yell to someone.

She remembered that she'd been asked a question. "His leg," she said suddenly, "they're going to have to cut off his leg."

* * *

Stoick had never been squeamish. It simply wasn't the Viking way. He'd chopped dragons to bits and enjoyed it, he'd seen men killed, wounded, and bleed. Sometimes, if the wound wasn't fatal, he'd laugh and slap them on the shoulder, _congratulating _them. But this? This made his blood run cold.

He hadn't realized how much his son meant to him, not really, until that day. And now here he was, bleeding out on Stoick's lap, unconscious with a leg waiting on its appointment with the chopping block.

Truly, he felt bad about the leg. There was no question about it, it would have to come off. The bone was snapped clean off, exposed. There were gaping wounds from where it looked like something had grabbed and twisted, and anyone with any medical knowledge could realize that to try and treat it would be to sign a death warrant – death by infection. No, although the leg was an unfortunate tragedy, it wasn't the leg that Stoick was worried about – it was the _blood._ There was a lot of it, too much. This was the real problem with wounds. Not the pain, or the damage done, but the blood loss, the risk of infection. Stoick cursed himself for having not noticed Hiccup's pallor straightaway. The medic had given Stoick a thick pad of bandages in his absence, and the chief had been staunching the flow as best he could from the largest and most dangerous of the wounds.

"Still," Gobber said as he returned to the scene, another wad of bandages in his hands as he knelt to care to the smaller gashes up near Hiccup's knee, "It's a wonder how he _managed_ it. I mean, wha' with tha mountain o' fire tha went up afterward, I thought for sure he'd be burnt to a crisp, bu' _this_," He gestured with the stone hammer still drilled into his wrist. (And suddenly, Stoick could help but wonder if his _son_ would opt for interchangeable limbs).

"He was wrapped up in the beast's wings," Stoick told him, eyeing Toothless. Come to think of it, he wasn't entirely sure how Hiccup _gotten_ there. He rode on the dragon's back, strapped in. So how in the Nine Realms had he climbed into his _claws_ while freefalling through a curtain of fire?

As if to answer his question, Gobber began peering closely at the wounds he was treating.

"Are these…" He removed his wad of bandages and looked, and dabbed a few times to clear away the blood temporarily for a better view. "Are these _tooth_ marks?" He asked.

His eyes met Stoick's, an idea clicking in both of their minds. As one, they turned to look at the Night Fury. With one hand, Stoick reached out and touched the beast's snout, near its lips. He drew his hand back and rubbed forefinger and thumb near to his face.

Faint. Diluted with saliva, but still red. Blood.

He looked between his boy and the dragon, and Gobber must've figured out what he'd already concluded, exactly how this flying devil had saved his son's life. Simultaneously, awe and rage overcame him, and Stoick had to close his eyes and bow his head to contain himself. Gobber sensed it, and put a comforting hand on Stoick's shoulder.

"So _that's_ 'ow he didn't burn to a crisp," He said solemnly. "Well done, then, you black lightning," Gobber came around and patted the dragon gently on the brow. Toothless, near to unconsciousness as he was, gave a labored trill. Gobber reached out and fingered the ends of Hiccup's hair, the charred ends suddenly making sense. "Looks like you grabbed 'im just in time, too." He patted Hiccup very gently on the head, and stepped away to assist the medic who'd returned with the amputation kit.

Paying the other men no heed, Stoick looked slowly toward Toothless' face, almost wishing the dragon would open its eyes again so he could see him properly. He'd bought his son's life by taking his leg. It was a fair trade, perhaps. If only they could keep him alive long enough to complete the exchange.

"Most of him, indeed," Stoick said quietly. He heard a fire crackle to life beside him, and the clanking of metal tools. The sound seemed to draw Toothless away from the edge of sleep, and Stoick was forced to move away as Toothless lurched to right himself. He only managed to get onto his belly. Making sad whining noises, the night fury brought his head around to sniff at Hiccup. He prodded his shoulder just once before he seemed to realize that the human was unconscious. Eyeing Stoick, Toothless moaned pitifully and nuzzled Hiccup's stomach, resting his warm head across most of the small torso.

"We'll have to move him somewhere stable," the healer told Stoick as he readied his tools. "Don't want him moving around too much."

The medic washed his tools with a bottle of brandy while Stoick and Gobber moved Hiccup to a slab of rock that'd been cleared for the purpose of operating table. They'd wrapped his leg in a fold of cloth for transport, and already it was beginning to show red. Toothless was trilling helplessly from the ground, and he stood with some difficulty to follow his broken human, mangled flying gear trailing noisily after him. The healers tried to push him away, but he was having none of it, and after he started growing and baring teeth (some of which still showed a bit pink, Stoick noticed) the Vikings stopped trying. They weren't ready to risk whatever tenable peace they had with the beasts, and so Toothless stayed at Hiccup's side the entire time.

There were people that had gathered to watch, Stoick knew. Or at least, they tried to watch. Gobber shooed most of them away. Whether it was for his own sanity, Hiccup's dignity, or the concentration of the medic, he wasn't sure. He didn't actually care. He could hear Astrid asking questions, and Gobber trying to placate her. There was Snotlout, too, and Stoick almost wanted to smile because he'd never once heard his nephew express any concern over Hiccup until now.

The medic had gathered his tools and bandages and laid them out at the ready. They were wicked looking things, with edges so sharp they wouldn't last an hour in a battle, but made for a cleaner job on the medic table. There were saws and clippers, and a set of needles with suture thread on a spool. Stoick had known to expect all of it, but suddenly, when the mental images of those _things_ hurting his boy came into his head, they were all steel demons. Necessary, life-saving demons.

"Right then," The medic said seriously, rolling up his sleeves. "Gobber! Get back over here, we'll need another set of hands."

"For what?" Stoick demanded.

The man looked hesitant to answer. "He's out now, but he might… thrash a bit. They sometimes do." The thought hadn't occurred to Stoick, but he numbly obeyed when he was directed to hold Hiccup down by the shoulders. His son was so small, Stoick thought he might crush him if he pressed down too hard. Gobber laid a massive arm over the boy's thighs, and the medic took a long strip of leather and tied it right above the kneecap of Hiccup's injured leg, to a tightness that made Stoick wince.

"Ready, lads?" The medic asked.

"Just do it," Stoick snapped.

The operation was meant to be swift. With the damage already there, the medic found his job halfway done to begin with. But it was a messy job, and it took time to clean up.

"The bones are a clean break," he told the chief and Gobber, "it's how the muscle's been torn about that's done it in for him. If I had to guess, I'd say he broke his leg before that beast o' his got a hold of it."

Stoick thought on the idea, and looked over at Toothless. He'd been surprised when the dragon made no move to interfere when the medic started the amputation. The species must have been more intelligent that Stoick had ever given it credit for, because Toothless seemed to understand the whole situation with a grim clarity. He did not interfere, but watched with a sharp eye, and occasionally made high-pitched whines in his throat that reminded Stoick of a pining hound. Once in a while, when he wasn't eying his Hiccup, Toothless would shoot the father an expressive look.

_I'm sorry_, it always seemed to say. Stoick might have began wondering how it was that he'd come to understand a dragon's facial expressions, but he was torn from his thoughts when Hiccup moved.

He'd been warned about the thrashing. They'd never said anything about screaming.

It was mostly nonsense, words muddled by the intense pain that'd brought Hiccup out from unconsciousness. Toothless was roaring in panic, and Gobber had to lean his entire weight against Hiccup's legs to keep the medic's work steady. Stoick felt like the worst, most evil man in the world as he had to hold down his son and listen to his cries, worse still when Hiccup somehow realized who was hovering over him, and managed to get out the words,

"Make it stop, Dad, please… wanna go home. Dad, I wanna go home. Wanna go home." The words were slurred to the point that Stoick thought he, the father, might be the only one who understood. Still, Gobber must have understood the gist of them, because when Hiccup passed out again a few moments later, he sent his friend the most understanding, comforting look he'd mustered in years. Stoick looked away and tried to check the tears that'd appeared in his eyes.

"Worst is done," He heard the medic report from the end of the makeshift table, "Just to sew it up, now, and that should stop the bleeding, too."

Taking this announcement as this release from restraining duty, Gobber rose from his place, wiping his hands of some residual blood, and went to go dispel Astrid once again (and this time Fishlegs, too) who'd come forward when Hiccup began screaming. There were older, more experienced Vikings among the crowd who did not appear overexcited, but only grim and understanding.

"Don't take it to heart, Sir," the medic told him, "they never remember any of the pain when they wake up. Human memory takes small mercies like that." His hand was bobbing skillfully up and down in Stoick's peripheral as he stitched up the end of what would be Hiccup's permanent stump. "He might not even remember the fire, or the fall. Only time will tell. But I can promise you, he won't remember that just now."

It was kind of him to say so, but that didn't change how much it hurt to watch.

Once the sutures were in place, the last of the cleaning brandy was poured over the seam for good measure, and the stump was wrapped in clean linen bandages. Afterward, some of the women healers among the crowd came forward and helped wipe away the excess blood, smear salve over the small scuffs and burns, and make sure there weren't any stray injuries festering unseen.

The dismembered leg, or what was left of it, was burned. The last thing they needed was dead flesh drawing animals. Dragons were nothing to worry about, Stoick had found – contrary to what he'd been taught in the stories he'd been told as a boy, every single dragon he passed on the way to the fire turned nose up and away from human flesh. The smell of it burning was sickly sweet. Without wood and tar to mask the odor, it was even more pronounced even than a funeral ship. If there was anyone there who hadn't known what had happened to the Chief's son, they knew now.

After that, things began to blur together as the adrenaline fell. Camps were pitched. Cloaks were pulled out. The evening drew darker. Berkians going into war were nothing if not prepared, and Hiccup was bundled up in a camping bed so luxurious, even an outsider walking in would realize that he must've been the hero of the hour. Stoick sat mulling on a rock some metres away, wanting to sleep but knowing it would be next to impossible. There was too much to process.

A limping, tapping gait warned him when Gobber approached.

"Here," he said, and a bowl of stew appeared under Stoick's nose, "I know how you are on an empty stomach, and no one 'round here will benefit from a cranky chief."

Stoick took the bowl but didn't touch it. After watching the man for a moment, Gobber sat down next to him.

"He'll be alright, Stoick."

"I know."

"So will you."

"I've been a horrible father, Gobber."

Gobber actually chuckled. "Maybe, maybe. But Hiccup's not been an easy son for you, either. I don' think either of you are bad at being father or son. You're just… not that good at doing it with each other."

Somehow, it didn't make Stoick feel any better.

"But you know, if a twig like tha' can tame a night fury with nothin' but a soft hand, and end up changin' the whole bloomin' world," he waved his hammer at Hiccup, "then how hard can bein' a family possibly be?"

"Really _really _hard," was Stoick's response. Gobber laughed again.

"Oh, he's gone and set tha bar rather high, I'll give ya that. But he's smashed your ideas of the impossible to bits once, all I'm sayin' is tha he might be inclined to do it again." Gobber patted his friend on the back and stood. "Now eat tha stew. Looks like we'll be here for the night."

That was another thing, Stoick thought, mood shifting. The Green Death, as the men were already calling it, had torched all of their ships. There was at least one, maybe two that they could salvage, but the repairs were going to take time. Time that Stoick wasn't sure that they had. He glanced over at Hiccup. Toothless had found his way to his human shortly after they'd put him there, and was now curled tightly around him, tail across his lap, face resting on his chest. Even from where he sat, Stoick could see the remaining pallor in Hiccup's face, and the strange, laborsome breathing of his sleep. _I wanna go home_, the words echoed painfully in his head. They needed to get back to Berk. But how?

Sighing tiredly, Stoick began spooning stew into his mouth. They'd already killed one behemoth that day. The next one would have to wait until morning.

* * *

A/N: I want to continue this, hopefully I'll have time. I recently published a story, 'Stump Day' (which is infinitely cheerier than this little ray of sunshine) where I mention my headcanon of how Hiccup lost his leg. After I wrote that, my brain started filling in a headcanon for everything else about the battle's aftermath, how they got back, etc. So, I plan on writing that here. Hopefully y'all will enjoy it!


	2. Chapter 2

"Stoick," Someone whispered beside him, "Stoick wake up," A shove. "It's morning."

The chief hadn't been aware that he'd fallen asleep, so the awakening was confusing, and he had to blink around at his surroundings a few times before yesterday's events came washing over him in a flood. Adrenaline rushed through him at the memories, and he stood quickly.

Gobber watched him with a patient face. Usually, the smith enjoyed more loud, gruff interactions with his longtime friend, but in light of recent days, he was careful to give the chief some space and, when it seemed right, gentleness.

"They're startin' to patch up the boats with what timber they can find," He told the chief as he brushed himself off and stretched his sore muscles, "Mind you, there's not much lyin' 'round here, being an island of rock. Spitelout's sayin' we'll need to send an advance party forward to fetch more ships from the Island, take 'em back here, ferry back and forth 'til we can get everyone back home. But it's goin' ta take some time, and-"

"Hiccup?" Stoick interrupted, having only been half-listening. "Where's Hiccup?"

"Ah, well, that's what I was 'bout to say. The healers are sayin, ah… that is…" Gobber sighed. "I'll be straight wit ya', Stoick, he's not well. And we need to get him home first 'fore everyone else."

Stoick started straight away for the tent where he knew they'd put his son. Gobber hurried after him. "'Course he can't go alone, Thorn will have to go too, with all his medical supplies, and a few others. Your brother's already drawing up all the arrangements, they just need to get one of those boats patched up so we can-"

"Where is he?" Stoick stopped on the spot, spinning around in a cleared patch of ground where a tent used to be. Busy Vikings milled around him, carrying wood, rope, buckets. His son was nowhere to be seen.

"They moved him further in," Gobber gestured. "The wet air's startin' to settle on his lungs. I saw him earlier, Stoick, he's running a fever something fierce, he needs to get back ta Berk as soon as-"

"_Where_?"

Gobber knew that tone, so he broke off what he had been planning to say and didn't hesitate. "This way."

* * *

Hiccup's face was extremely pale as the day before, but was now trying valiantly to muster a hot pink color in the heat of his fever. The only moisture on his skin was from the thick sea air, and it left patches of powdery salt that the healers had to scrub off from time to time. He wasn't in a tent, anymore, but still wrapped in furs. His body wasn't even trying to shiver.

When Stoick came in, Thorn had just finished replacing the soiled wrappings on Hiccup's leg. He turned to look up at the chief, but Stoick's eyes immediately caught on the discarded bandages, half brown with dried blood, but shining bright red in some places. Thorn noticed, and took the bloody cloth in a fistful and tossed it into a nearby fire. It broke the spell, and Stoick turned back to the healer.

"Gobber says he's not well," He said, businesslike, but he couldn't stop himself from glancing repetitively at his son's stump, which still rested in Thorn's hand.

The physician sighed, and turned to put the leg back beneath the fur coverings. "He can't stay here much longer, Chief. The night is cold, the day is warm, the air is thick and wet… it's makin' his body work too hard to keep him well. It's already had one Hel of a job cut out for it, if you'll pardon the figure of speech." Thorn stood up, shorter than Stoick but looking just as concerned. "He needs still, dry air and fresh water and a bed that's not made of rock." Thorn crossed his arms. "you wouldn't have any doubts about it, sir, but _he_ goes home first."

Stoick drew in a deep breath, checking his concern and anxiety in so that he could evaluate their options. A thought struck, and he cast his eyes around suddenly. "Where's Toothless?" he asked, and he wouldn't figure out until later that the name tasted strange because it was the first time he'd said it.

"I sent him away this morning, when Hiccup's fever was peaking. That dragon's hide is like fire itself; he was doing more harm than good coddling the boy like that. I think he understood, but wasn't too happy about it. Marta said she saw the beast earlier, not too far away," He pointed in the right direction, "said he was chewing at his tail, though she didn't know why."

"Chewing at his…" _his tail_._ Of course._ When they'd had the Night Fury locked up, Stoick had seen how Toothless was missing a tail fin, and how Hiccup had replaced it. What he hadn't noticed until that moment was that they'd never bothered to help the dragon out of his ruined flying gear since he crash-landed to earth. "Right." He looked back down at his son. "How long?" He asked the physician, "How long do we have before…" He didn't want to finish, and Thorn understood why he wouldn't.

"I can't say, Sir, I'm sorry. I'm not so sure it's life and death at this point, more… damage control. You should know what fevers can do. Let it go too long, they won't wake up the same."

Stoick did know. So he squared his shoulders and put his head up, and pieced together a plan in his head. "Do what you need to. Gobber," He turned, knowing that the smith was still standing near, "Find Toothless and get him out of that contraption of his. …Make sure he's not hurt," He tacked on as an afterthought. "I need to go speak with Spitelout."

"Right," Gobber hurried off, following the direction that Thorn had indicated earlier. Stoick turned and marched back to where a hive of Vikings were trying to repair their ships. "And son," He said quietly, when he was away from the others, "try to listen to orders just this once: don't you dare die until I get a chance to take you home."

* * *

Gobber hadn't meant to pick up Astrid on his way to Toothless, but he'd passed the gaggle of newly-released dragons on the way, and she'd been there stroking a nadder's snout when he appeared, and had rushed over to ask questions again.

Surprisingly, she asked about Hiccup only once, and when Gobber's only answer had been "Not good. We need to get him home soon. I'm goin' ta find his dragon," she hadn't pressed the question, and instead stepped into stride with Gobber, presumably to help him.

Walking along the pebbly beach, Gobber felt silently impressed by the girl, much as he always had been, although now for different reasons. She was a strong one, to be sure. Although she did a good job acting apathetic to just about everything and everyone that didn't involve warfare, he'd seen the past few days how much she could care. It was her caring nature that gave her such formidable strength behind her axe. Before, care for her home and protecting their people. Now, for Hiccup, the one who'd changed everything overnight.

He'd seen the way she looked at him. He wasn't sure he'd call it love just yet, but he'd begun to hope it'd grow into that one day. Hiccup would need someone as strong as Astrid beside him in the days and years to come. For his own sake, and for all of Berk.

"There," Astrid said, pointing. Through a misty fog, they could see Toothless sitting curled over himself. True to what Marta had said, he was chewing at his own tail, making frustrated gnawing sounds. As the two Vikings drew nearer, Toothless heard them and brought up his head, tail still in his own jaws. Gobber saw that it wasn't really his _tail _that he was chewing at, but rather the mangled cord and straps that still clung to it.

"Settle down there, now," Gobber gestured peace with his hand. "Let's see what we've got here," He came close, and Toothless seemed to understand so he let down his tail in front of Gobber. Still, he eyed the Viking warily, so Astrid came over and stroked his snout comfortingly. Toothless trilled and pressed into her palm.

Getting the gear off took far longer than it should have. Toothless had apparently tried to burn it off already, and some of the metal bits were welded together, including some of the buckles that fastened the many leather straps.

"Did you know he was making all of this?" Astrid broke the silence, examining the gear on Toothless' back and chest as she continued to pet him. Gobber, who'd been wrestling a metal buckle open, stopped his work and glanced up and down the length of the dragon.

"No," He said, resuming his pulling and wrenching. "Hiccup has a knack for sneaking scraps that I won't miss right from under me nose. I don't know where he hides them, but if I'd known what that boy'd been up to all this time, I'd've told him off until his ears bled and kept two eyes on 'im until Raganok itself." He shook his head slowly, and sighed after a moment. "Truth be told, though," he said seriously, "I'm glad I didn't know at all. You should be too, after yesterday."

Astrid didn't say anything in reply, but decided to help by going at the gear on Toothless' neck. She wasn't quite as brutishly strong as Gobber, but her fingers worked dexterously enough to have the same effect. "I knew he was up to _something_," she confessed, "I just didn't know what. I saw him in the woods past Ravens Point, once, with the saddle."

"Did ya, now?" Gobber seemed interested. Astrid shrugged.

"I had no idea what it was. I just… dismissed it, after a while. Hiccup is strange. It was strange. I knew he was doing _something_ to get so good with dragons. I would never have guessed _this_," She freed the front girth of the saddle, and Toothless shook himself in relief. "I didn't think he was capable of something so…"

"Clever?" Gobber offered. Astrid looked down, ashamed.

"We've always been wrong about him, haven't we?" She was referring to herself and the other teens, but Gobber knew it applied more widely.

"Oh, I don't know about _wrong_, really. Ignorant, maybe, but not really _wrong._" Gobber said in that strangely wise way of his, "Hiccup isn't easy to understand."

"We could've tried harder," She said, fiddling with the second girth guiltily.

Gobber nodded. "Aye, we could have. And if we'd actually managed to understand anything 't'all, we'd 'ave shipped him off for treason, or insanity besides. It's messy any way you hack at it. Could we 'ave listened to him more? Probably. Should we 'ave? Maybe. But 'probably so's and 'maybe if's don't help worth a fly's behind when there's work to be done." one of the straps on Toothless' tail snapped open, and he flexed the area gratefully. "Hiccup made himself loud and clear yesterday, and wha' with no more dragons dodging for us left and right, we've finally time to stop and listen. So tha's what we'll do. But _right now_, we'll do the work that has to be done." Gobber strained, and pulled apart another strap on Toothless' tail.

Astrid regarded her teacher for a moment before returning to work. She knew that some people saw Gobber as an eccentric old battle hero too damaged for real war, but she'd learned recently that behind the weird humor and questionable sanity, his mind was as sharp as the blades he forged. She dedicated herself to remember the fact in the future.

"Now, tha's better, in'it, ya Black Lightnin'?" Gobber smiled after they'd unfastened everything.

"Hiccup calls him Toothless," Astrid corrected the larger Viking as they helped Toothless step out of the metal loops around his legs.

"Odin knows why," Gobber scoffed. "The beast's got teeth as quick as a flash. They're what saved Hiccup's life, you know. Though not his leg."

Astrid shot her eyes up to Gobber for an explanation, but he said nothing more, and hauled the saddle and riding gear up and away, leaving it on the beach. Free and bare-scaled, Toothless shook himself and hummed happily as he pressed his head against Astrid's stomach. It was only a matter of seconds before he was trotting off determinedly - off to find Hiccup, no doubt. Astrid went after him in a jog, but Gobber chose to walk. A few yards in, he stopped and sighed.

He glanced back at the gear they'd left abandoned on the beach. It was useless. Mangled. It really was just salvage now. They would leave it here for time to clean up, wasting away with the rest of the rubble left under the ashes of the Red Death. There was no reason not to.

Gobber griped to himself about logic as he hobbled back over to it. Not knowing exactly why, he gathered the ripped leather saddle and its metal extensions up into his arms, and took it with him as he walked away. He didn't have a reason for doing it beside the fact that he couldn't just _leave it there_. So he let the warped metal tail bones dragon along after him as he hobbled through the fog.

* * *

Astrid knew her questions had been getting annoying just as much as Fishleg's questions were beginning to annoy her. So she distanced herself from the bigger boy and let him pester the twins while she drifted silently through the busy camp, eavesdropping in order to satisfy her painful curiosity. She passed Spitelout, who looked rather pestered as his son trailed behind and tried far too hard to be helpful (a sight Astrid was sure she would never see again,) but the father also seemed to recognize the concern behind his son's gesture, and suffered the bad with the good if only out of sympathy. She heard Stoick's booming voice directing people left and right. Bring that mast here, pitch the sides there, is the keel still straight? The steeringboard needs a new tether. If there had ever been any doubt as to why Stoick was the great chief that he was, the moment would have dispelled it. He was a master of direction and managing people, even when his son was lying in pieces at death's door.

Astrid let her eyes wander. She knew that the plan was to fix one ship in order to send Hiccup home first with Thorn, Stoick, and enough healers to tend to the boy. Spitelout and Gobber would stay behind to handle the crowds until more ships were ready. She also knew that time was wasting to get Hiccup home. She didn't know what the risks were for him, but she knew how to read the grave looks around camp. Hiccup needed Berk, and he needed it yesterday. Summoning what bravery she had, Astrid marched forward and found herself stepping into stride with Stoick.

"Sir," She said formally, forcing herself to stand straight and proud,

"Not now, Astrid," Stoick said, and it was longsuffering, not cruel.

"Sir, please, I want to help. We need to get Hiccup home,"

"Yes, you think I don't _know_ that?" Stoick rounded on her angrily. She jumped slightly, and he checked himself, a deep breath before continuing, "I'm doing what I can, Astrid," he told her.

"The dragons," she blurted. "The dragons took us all here, they can help Hiccup get home." The idea game him pause, and he stared. Astrid took the silence as a cue to continue. "They make the trip home twice as fast, we can get Hiccup to Berk and have him home and looked after. Thorn can arrive and go right to work on him when the ships follow after."

Stoick only stared. The idea held real merit, he knew, but he couldn't stop the sequence of images that flew through his head: of Hiccup falling from the sky into the ocean, of him freezing in the jetstreams, of Astrid flying him safely to Berk only for him to pass in the night where Stoick couldn't be there soon enough, of him growing worse while Thorn was away, of the dragon-riding teens helpless to do anything to save him. Was he willing to take the risks? He didn't know. Stoick the Vast, for perhaps only the fourth or fifth time in his entire life, was left without an assured answer. He stayed that way, staring uneasily down at Astrid, when Thorn jogged up to him.

"Chief, I know you're doin' all you can, but we need to move faster, I've done all I can do, and storm clouds are gatherin'. If Hiccup doesn't get to Berk today, I fear of what'll happen when the rain rolls in." His eyes were serious.

Stoick tossed his head away, wishing that for once, he didn't have to make decisions like this. He took a deep breath and held it. Thorn and Astrid stood there watching, waiting, until he snapped back around with the sort of determination in his eyes that was so forced, no one there really relaxed when he gave his answer.

"Fine," He said, and it was directed at Astrid. "But I'm coming with you." She looked surprised, but nodded eventually. "Thorn, find some rope, and bring my son around to the west side of the island.

"Sir?"

"Where the dragons are. We're going to get him home."

Thorn cast an incredulous look at Astrid, and she gave the other Viking a steady look. He shrugged and let out a breath. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Stoick probably should've been more concerned with the fact that he was mounted on a dragon and was about to _fly_, but as the small team mounted up for the flight back to Berk, he couldn't stop himself from looking over at the Nadder, where his son was buddled up and secured by enough rope to satisfy a worried father. He looked away and adjusted his helmet.

"You sure about this, Stoick?" Gobber asked, standing by the shoulder of the nightmare Stoick was riding. Snotlout had somewhat uneasily given up his place in the return party and was staying behind under orders from Stoick to help his father direct the rest of the tribe in absence of the chief.

"No," Stoick told Gobber straight.

"Right, well… be careful, then." Gobber stepped away. "We'll see you by tonight, waves willing."

Stoick only nodded. Toothless was growling loudly, barking at the other dragons and rustling his wings. He looked somewhat odd to Stoick now, without his tack and leather. More vulnerable. The beast had nuzzled Hiccup's side all the way to Astrid's mount with the air of an overprotective hound, but now he looked like the viper-quick predator he was, and whatever he was saying to the other dragons, he'd earned their complete attention.

Vikings handed supplies to the twins and Fishlegs, and Thorn stood by Astrid, briefing her on how to care for Hiccup once they arrived. They were all so busy, Stoick wondered if he was the only one who was watching as Toothless marched up and down the line of dragons, looking for all the world like he was giving a pre-battle speech. Eventually, his growling died down, and Toothless cast a look around at the Vikings who were clearing space for takeoff. He turned back barked once more at his comrades, and the dragons trilled and screeched each in response. The night fury cleared from the beach, looking long at Hiccup, and then, as he turned, to Stoick. He snorted firmly and went to stand by Gobber.

"Ready, Sir?" Astrid asked, and Stoick remembered suddenly that he should probably hold on. The nightmare looked back around at him questioningly, and he gripped the horns more firmly.

"Go," He said, because his own preparedness wouldn't actually change anything.

"Let's go!" Astrid called loudly, leaning over Hiccup. The nadder's legs tightened and sprung beneath her, and one by one, the other dragons followed, wings beating through fog to reach higher at the air.

Gobber watched them go along with the rest of the crowd. As the shapes faded into shadows and eventually disappeared entirely, Toothless moaned beside him. Gobber looked down at the beast and gave him a pat on the head.

"Come along then, Toothy. They'll get 'im home. But there's work to be done here, as well."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'll warn you, this chapter is a full dose of angst. I mean, I always meant for this story to be intense, but this is the most angsty of all of the chapters. It'll lighten up after this, I promise. Not all the way, but this is the worst of the worst.

Also, it's a really weird mother's day gift, I suppose, but happy mother's day!

* * *

The trip home was a mixed bag. On the one hand, flying was terrifying. There was something essentially _unnatural_ about a human riding across the air, dragon or no. On the other hand, of course, Stoick found that it was unexpectedly easy to accustom himself. Learning to move with the rhythm of the dragon wasn't entirely different from gaining your sea legs on a bobbing ship, and for someone who'd spent a lifetime manning sails and tilling steering boards, Stoick found himself with an instinctual understanding of how the dragon's wings and tail caught the wind, which allowed him to move in time to its movements. An hour or two into their flight, Stoick's only real concern with flying itself was a determination _not to look down_, because his palms would undoubtedly start sweating if he did.

Instead, he looked over at the nadder, where Astrid was cruising slightly below. If Hiccup's face had looked pale before, he looked like a ghost now. Astrid's arms had to wrap around the bundled-up Haddock to hold on, and her ruddy skin bragged health against Hiccup's pallor. Stoick clenched his hands around the huge flexible spines of the monster, wishing he could somehow make Berk appear on the horizon. Sensing his unease, the monster tossed its head, and gave a gentle push to move faster. He growled to his comrades, and their wings ate up the distance just a little bit faster.

* * *

Not _all_ of Berk was away at war. The small convoy of dragons and Vikings did have a homecoming on their island, consisting mainly of the elderly, the very young, and a few warriors too injured to go out to war.

They'd seen the teenagers leave not too long ago atop a small flock of dragons, but none of them were expecting the chief to return with them. When Stoick vaulted off the neck of the monster, the gathering crowd murmured in surprise. He ignored them and went immediately to Astrid's nadder, helping the girl down first so she could help him untie the ropes holding Hiccup in place. As soon as he had Hiccup bundled in his arms, Stoick was jogging to his house. Astrid fell into place behind him, as did the twins and Fishlegs. Last of all, Gothi the elder followed the strange procession to the chief's house at the top of the hill.

Stoick kicked the door open and stopped midway through the main room. Pausing, he turned around, thankful that Astrid was there. "Astrid, hold him," he said, and handed his son to her. In the blankets, Hiccup was nearly as big as she was, but he was light and she was strong.

Taking the steps two at a time, Stoick rushed upstairs and grabbed Hiccup's bed like it was as light as a stool, and brought it down to slam on the floorboards by the fire. "Here," he said, and Ruffnut and Astrid were there to help situate the patient on the mattress.

"His fever's let down," Ruffnut said seriously. Astrid's hand darted up to his forehead.

"No, he's not sweating." Astrid sounded panicked. "It's not let down, he's just…" She stopped, and had to swallow. She refused to meet Stoick's eyes.

At that moment, Gothi appeared, using her hands and her staff to whack teens out of the way until she was at Hiccup's bedside. Her ancient face was twisted into a frown, and she bent over Hiccup's head with an uncharacteristic amount of concern. It wasn't a point of everyday conversation, but all of the teens in the room took a moment to remember the fact that Gothi was, in fact, Hiccup's grandmother.

Gothi was a woman of very few words. No one really knew why – Astrid remembered her father once theorizing that Gothi was old enough that she'd simply done enough talking for one lifetime. Whatever it was, it didn't surprise anyone when she waved her hands and staff in an unspoken command for the teens to leave the house. They did so without questions, although Fishlegs took the longest time about it, wringing his hands and looking back several times before he reached the door. Eventually, Astrid had to grab his shoulder and steer him away.

When the door shut, Gothi remained slouched over her unconscious grandson, touching his forehead, examining his face, his hands. When she lifted the furs to see his amputated leg, she paused and stared, and then turned a long look up at Stoick. He sighed and looked away. She softened her gaze then, although he couldn't see.

"Gothi," Stoick asked her, his voice pleading. "Will he be alright?"

Gothi did not say anything, of course. She passed behind Stoick and gave him two soft pats on the arm before continuing on her way to the kitchen. When she reappeared, she had two cups and a teapot in her hands, and Stoick's heart fell. He could only remember two times Gothi had ever made tea for him - the day when Hiccup was born, and the night when Valhallarama had died. Too tired and shocked now to bother with tears, Stoick fell blank-faced into the chair that Gothi wordlessly pulled up beside Hiccup's bed.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

Night and day blurred together after that. Stoick stayed up tending to his son for hours or days, he wasn't sure. Eventually, Gothi made him sleep, and when he awoke, Astrid was there by Hiccup's bedside, changing his bandages. When she finished she washed her hands, and then wiped at her face. Stoick thought it was sweat, but when she saw him, she ducked her head away, and he knew that it had been tears.

"How is he?" He asked softly, coming up beside Hiccup, who had shown little change since the day before, let alone improvement.

"I don't know, sir," Astrid said, voice hoarse from the long days. "His fever is trying to run strong, but… there isn't much left in him," she wrestled out, even though the words burned at the back of her throat. Stoick sighed.

"You should go home, Astrid," the chief told her, kindly. "Sleep. I'll have someone let you know if anything changes."

"Yes, sir." She said dutifully, rising from her seat. As she left, Stoick told her,

"Thank you, Astrid,"

If she was surprised at being thanked personally by the chief, she hid it well. She met his eyes, and only nodded before leaving out the front door.

The rotation continued for another two days – the ships that Gobber had promised by sundown the first day were still nowhere in sight, and so Stoick, Astrid, and Gothi, Ruffnut, and Fishlegs together took turns seeing to Hiccup, who moved so little and breathed so shallowly, more than once his guardians feared that he'd slipped away.

Stoick found himself on rotation in the middle of the night on the second day, too weary and worried to say anything to Gothi or the teens as they left for their beds. He watched his son's face, trying to find a spot where he might have stirred, even a little. There was nothing, so Stoick sat down with a heavy sigh and took up a small, white hand in his own. His own flesh and blood.

"You're stronger than this, son," he said, so quietly he wasn't sure if it was a thought or a whisper. Choking, he added, "I know no one stronger."

* * *

There was a special sort of pleasure in the sensation of waking up slowly, letting the mind take its time to doze, the senses their time to bloom. Hiccup's awareness came to him like a sunset, in thick layers of color that brightened with time.

He was in a bed softer and cooler than the thickest moss, embraced in a clutch of fabric smoother than water and only heavy enough to make him feel safe. Soft light called him to flutter his eyes open, but not quite all the way, into a morning that was bright but not painful. The air around him was a paradox, thick and light, sweet and rich at the same time. He had no point of reference for the warmth he felt, but it was the warmth of a true summer's day. The breeze was spring, the smell was autumn, and the taste of the air was a winter without bite. He couldn't feel it, but a small smile had spread across his lips.

Something brushed across his thumb, and Hiccup realized that someone was holding his hand. Surprisingly unalarmed, he turned his head lazily to see his companion. The hands around his were soft, because the calluses had fallen away a lifetime ago. The arms attached where freckled but smooth, and they led up to a face, cheeky, rosy, and smiling. Two green eyes twinkled at him, and he thought he recognized them from somewhere in his foggy memories.

"Hiccup," she said, and smiled wider. He blinked at her, not frowning, as he remembered what to call her.

"Mommy?" he asked quietly, feeling like a boy again. She squeezed his hand.

"Hello, love."

In the back of his mind, Hiccup realized that he must be dead. He found that he couldn't bring himself to care. "Mom," he said again, and reached his other hand across to her.

Laughing, Valhallarama drew her son into her arms as easily as anything, and held him close against her. In another life, he would've been embarrassed, but something about this place made it all bliss.

"Oh, Hiccup, my Hiccup, you _did it_. I am so proud of you, my son." He had a vague notion of what she was talking about, but her hug said far more than her words ever could in that moment, and he couldn't think about his own accomplishments. His hands were buried in braids of thick auburn, a color that he knew from his own head. She smelled like berries and fresh rain, just like he remembered, but now freed from the mustiness of Viking living.

"You're _here_," was all he could make himself say.

"Aye, love. I'll be here still, when you come back."

He actually frowned. "Come _back_?" He pulled away from her.

"Hiccup," She said, like she did when he was young and needed a lecture, "you can't stay here, you musn't. Not yet. You've still got work to do."

He wasn't really sure he wanted that. He looked down and away. "Oh." Her finger found his chin and tilted it back up.

"You'll be the greatest of them all, you know." she smiled at him, and brushed his hair back, studying him. "Oh, you've grown up so much. You'll make a handsome husband someday, and a loving father." He wasn't sure if he was more disturbed by her saying it, or by the fact that he didn't really _mind_ her saying it. She smiled, as if reading the thought. "I am glad you met Toothless. He marks the beginning of a better age, as do you."

"You know about Toothless?"

Valhallarama laughed. "Oh, can you blame a mother for watching over her only son? Yes, I know, and I am so, so proud." She hummed a smile. "A Hiccup indeed, for only a Hiccup could have a hand gentle enough to change a world so stubborn." She squeezed both his hands for emphasis. "they will serve you well when you get back," She told him.

"When I get back," he repeated, because he would be leaving for somewhere else, he felt, somewhere far, far, far away from here.

"Aye," She said, "and see the world you've won. But you'll have to leave here, first."

"Are you sure I have to?" Hiccup asked. His mother smiled.

"Yes, dearheart, but only for a while. It won't seem like a long time, in the end."

"Oh. Alright."

A figure by the door drew his attention, and a tall, lean man came into the room and walked up beside Valhallarama. He had green eyes, too, and Hiccup felt that he should recognize him. "It's time, Val," he told her. The Viking woman nodded, eyes just slightly sad.

"Hiccup," She turned to her son, "you'll see your father very soon now, and when you do, I want you to tell him something for me."

"Oh?" a weight like lead was settling in his core, and his shoulders and legs, weighing him down irresistibly against his mother's comforting warmth.

"You tell him he owes me a blue moon's worth of the finest mead." Hiccup frowned, because it seemed like a very odd message to send, of all things to send back from the afterlife.

"What?" He felt compelled to ask. Valhallaramma laughed; a loud, merry laugh.

"He'll know what it means, dearheart. Tell him he can give it to you in my place – you definitely deserve it."

"But I… well, okay," Hiccup couldn't fight. His eyes were lead too, now, and his vision was swimming about. There was a third figure in the room, he realized, standing just aside from his mother and her friend. Hiccup wondered if the others could see him. He was tall, and muscular, and blond, but where Hiccup had always garnered judgment from such types because of his small, weak frame, this man was smiling at Hiccup from his eyes with approval. A gleaming hammer hung at his side.

"Hiccup," Valhallarama called, and Hiccup's eyes swam back around to her, "you're going now. I love you, my son, and I am so proud of you."

Hiccup smiled, and watched his mother's face as his eyes closed. It wasn't for the last time, he knew, just as he knew by some instinct that there _were _no 'last times' in this place. He fell asleep to the sound of his mother's voice, like he remembered doing years and years ago, before she left for the halls of Valhalla.

* * *

Stoick was in a panic. Hiccup had been pale and still for days, but this, _this_ was something else. He was rasping, an intermittent rattle that Stoick knew well, because he had been by the deathbeds of too many relatives, too many friends, not to remember the sounds of their final breaths. He'd called for Gothi, for Astrid, for anyone who would listen, but he wasn't loud enough, and he could not possibly draw himself away from his son. If he stepped away for even a moment, he feared that he would miss it, that Hiccup would slip away just as he stepped out the door.

Then came the moment when the next rattle didn't come, when Hiccup lay still and unmoving on his bed, leaving the room utterly silent.

"Hiccup?" Stoick pleaded. _Please. Please, gods above, please don't take him, too_._ Not like this_. "Son?" He called again. Nothing. Seconds ticked by, a minute. Two. Stoick felt a cry rising in his throat, not from his lungs, but from his gut. He wanted it to stop. "No," He said quietly, and realized it was only to himself. He put a hand underneath Hiccup's head, at his neck. Dead weight in his hands. _Dead_. "_No,_" He said again, choking. "Oh, son."

He would never realize how badly he jumped.

A gasp. A long, healthy, desperate gasp, and the dead weight arched over his hand, Hiccup's neck flexing and turning to find more air.

"_Hiccup!_" Stoick couldn't help it. He stared through bleared eyes at watched his son gasp for air, his throat trying to clear away the rattles of before. Letting out a huge breath, Stoick looked up to the ceiling and knew, just _knew_ that he had just gained a hundred new grey hairs. He blinked away tears, and looked back down. His stomach leaped again, because somehow, Hiccup's eyelids were fluttering open.

"…Mom?" He asked raspily. The name felt like a knife. He bit his lip before saying, "No," shaking his head. "no, Hiccup, it's me."

"Dad," Hiccup concluded. "Oh…tha w's quicker th'n I 'spected…." Stoick wasn't sure what he meant. "Mom…. Mom told me t' tell you s'mthin'," he slurred, trying and failing to keep his eyes open long enough to hold his father's gaze.

"What?" Stoick asked, too stunned to ask _how_.

"Said… said you owed 'er a… blue moon of mead, er, som'im…" He took a labored breath, and his eyebrows came down over his closed eyes in a frown. "Said ya'coul' give it t'me, but…" he shook his head weakly. "I don' like mead, dad.. so… What'ver 't is 'bout, it's 'kay. You d'n't 'ave to." After he finished talking, Hiccup's breathing evened out again, but his hand flexed under Stoick's, and he smiled when he felt it. "Yeah…" he murmured, even quieter than before, "love you too, da'."

He fell back asleep. His father began crying.

Hiccup had died. Stoick _knew_ he had died, because there was no way, no _possible_ way that Hiccup could know about that conversation unless he'd been to Valhalla himself, in Valhalla so that his mother to tell him. His son had died, and come back.

"_You are hopeless, Stoick Haddock. I leave you alone with our son for two measly weeks, and you manage to break his arm."_

_Hiccup had played in a corner, his small right arm in a sling. Stoick had sighed. "I didn't – he did!" He'd gestured, feeling like a five year old arguing with his mother._

"_And you allowed it. And the time before that, it was an axe cut, and before that, the flu, and before that-"_

"_Yes, yes," Stoick had said, flushing. "He's a handful, and you know it."_

"_And yet I, at least, can manage to keep out of trouble. What will happen next time I'm away?"_

"_Talk to _him_!"_

"_He is your _son_, Stoick, and you had better protect him to your last breath. Which includes broken arms." Stoick had sighed, suitably chastened. Val had laughed. "With you around, if Hiccup makes it to adulthood in one piece," she'd told him, "it'll be a shock to the gods themselves."_

"_What is that supposed to mean?" he'd shouted back. His wife had giggled._

"_Tell you what. If Hiccup makes it to eighteen winters in one whole piece, I'll never badger you about it again," She'd said seriously._

"_Unlikely," he'd grumbled under his breath. She had ignored him._

"_If not, you, Stoick Haddock, owe your wife a blue moon's worth of the finest mead you can afford."_

"_A _blue moon_'s worth, Val, isn't that-"_

"_An incentive," she smiled, and pecked him on a scraggly cheek. "Now, come play with your son, before you break the bet too early."_

Hiccup's breaths were coming easily now, and Stoick thought he saw the first hints of sweat appearing on his forehead. Stoick found himself crying anyway, and his hand fought to find that of his son again.

The door opened sometime later, and it was a newly-arrived Gobber who came in, along with Thorn and Gothi, who swarmed to Hiccup's side when they saw Stoick's tearful state. When they found him breathing easy, his fever broken, Gobber turned a questioning look to his longtime friend and chief. He put his hand on Stoick's shoulder.

"He was in Valhalla," Stoick told Gobber, and the others turned their heads when he said it. "I know he was. He spoke with his mother. Relayed a message to me."

Stunned silence followed, and Gobber cast his eyes between Hiccup and his father. At length, Gobber asked: "A message? What kind of _message_?"

Inexplicably, Stoick laughed. "I've lost an old bet, it seems. She never did like to forget."

None of them really understood what that meant, but they didn't say anything when the chief hauled himself, up, and brushed a tender hand over Hiccup's head, before taking himself off to his room in half tears, half laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

Stoick slept for a solid day after that, but when he woke up, Gobber was waiting by the fire with a fresh tankard, a weary but encouraging smile, and one heck of a story to tell about how the rest of the vikings had found their way home again.

The repairs on the two salvageable ships wouldn't have normally been a high order, but with storms rolling in and sparse supplies, the work was bound to be hard and tedious. Add to their problems battle-beaten warriors, a rush to get Thorn back to Berk as soon as possible for Hiccup's sake, and a very, _very _antsy night fury confined to the ground, the vikings pushed the repairs to go quickly. Unfortunately, it'd put some rather sloppy work on the hull of the ships.

It really hadn't been entirely human error. Repaired or no, the ships were still battle-scarred and burnt in places. Water only sped up the rot. They'd just steered the first ship clear of the rock cliffs around the island when the water started to come onboard in earnest. Thorn had been on board, and Gobber, and Toothless among several others. They'd bailed with buckets, but they had no way of keeping the ship afloat once it started to go down. The ship, one of only two that even _might _be sea worthy eventually, was going to sink to the bottom beyond rescue.

The next part of Gobber's story made Stoick's eyebrows shoot up, because he would have never expected it.

It'd actually been Snotlout who saved the day. The dragons had fled their island the day before, but apparently, they'd received word that the danger had passed. They'd come back and regarded the vikings apprehensively, more from fear than potential aggression, but once the word passed to shore that the first ship was going into the drink, Snotlout was the one to jump into action.

According to eyewitness account, he'd barely even flinched when he marched right up to the closest nightmare and started talking to it, trying to convince it to help. At first he'd tried talking to it soothingly like his cousin had shown him, but the dragon only edged away. Eventually in his frustration, he'd yelled at the thing and taken a swipe at it. It'd responded by flooring him with a swing of its massive head, and then licked him from head to toe and nuzzled his saliva-soaked hair afterward.

With the help of his new friend, Snotlout had arranged a dragon-riding rescue party in no time, and with some quick-thinking from others who provided rope and grappling hooks, they'd flown out and towed the ship back to shore to repair it more thoroughly. That was their first day late. The next day, the new dragon-riding party had split and set out to find wood and food. What they found on the island and the small surrounding satellites would feed them for the next two days, and ultimately, make sure they could all get home safely.

It really _was _all thanks to Snotlout, Gobber assured Stoick, and the chief made a mental note to thank his nephew personally sometime soon. When he mentioned this to Gobber, the blacksmith laughed. "Maybe not for a while yet," he said, swirling the last of his mead, "he's sleeping as soundly as a boulder, and has been for over a day. Your poor brother hasn't had the chance to follow suit, what with his son's snoring. 'Lout was a real hero that day – but don't tell him that until he wakes up. He'll have a big head either way about it, and it's better a big head and a rested mind than a big head on its own."

Of course, there was also Toothless. The vikings had come home with a slew of new dragons, some flying, others (like terrors) riding in the boats, but none had set claw nor wing on Berk sooner than Toothless, who'd bounded and glided to shore before the ship had even hit the docks. He'd been as confused as a sheep in a maze when he found himself in the village. He was looking around frantically, sniffing the air (much to the alarm and bewilderment of the villagers) when the returning vikings finally appeared up from the docks. He saw Gobber and started making urgent barking sounds.

"He'll be up that way, Toothy," Gobber gestured up the hill toward the Chieftain's house. Gobber and Toothless had formed something of a quick friendship in their three days stranded together, and the nickname would stick - or at least, so long as it was Gobber who said it. Toothless had learned to understand his new two-limbed friend, and the fury charged up the path before the others. The door wouldn't open for a dragon, however, and Thorn and Gobber had to come up to open it for him. Gothi had somehow known they were there, and stepped onto the porch right as Gobber opened the latch.

That's when they'd found Stoick crying over his son's body, and that's when Gobber's heart had frozen and shattered. As he rushed over to Hiccup's side, Thorn was in the way, but Gobber didn't say anything, because all he could think was that he hadn't had the chance to say goodbye. Hiccup, gone, and his crazy old mentor had been too busy with a broken boat and a broken dragon to be there for a last goodbye.

Then, they realized that Hiccup was fine. Alive, breathing, still missing a leg and pale as a sheet, but all around doing rather well, given the circumstances. Never being one for too-heavy thoughts, Gobber came out of his devastation quickly, and turned instead to Stoick.

_Valhalla_, Stoick had told them. _Hiccup had been in Valhalla_. Gobber would've been the first to believe it was possible, but he couldn't help it when he tossed Hiccup a look of pure incredulity. After Stoick left the group in bewilderment, Gobber was the one to break the silence. "Well," he sighed, coming to the head of the bed, where Hiccup's hair was plastered to his face with a promising amount of sweat, "Valhalla we are not, but Berk'll have to do you, Hiccup," he checked the boy's temperature with his good hand. "And I'll never apologize for your loss." At the foot of the bed, Thorn was inspecting Hiccup's stump, and appeared to approve of what he found. Gothi was standing to the side, silent as ever, but with an expression of relief. Gobber nodded at it all, and sniffed back something that was definitely _not_ tears. He looked back down at Hiccup. "Good lad," he said, throat constricting the words to a whisper. He patted Hiccup on the head as he passed, tender and thankful.

Wasting no time, he broke into Stoick's not-so-secret stash of brandy. That's where he'd stayed until morning, at times taking turns by Hiccup's side to nurse away the worst of his fever with a cool rag, sometimes just watching the boy, wondering if he'd wake up. Toothless had impossibly stuffed himself atop Hiccup's bed and nested the boy against himself. The dragon stayed like that all through the night, occasionally fanning the boy with his wings when he sensed a spike in his diminishing fever.

After Stoick woke up and shared words with Gobber for a few hours, the blacksmith announced that it was long past time for him to find a bed to collapse into. Stoick had only nodded, a silent 'thank you' passing between old friends, and then Stoick took his place by his son, and Gobber went on his way.

He would never actually remember reaching his bed after that, but when he woke up there the next day, Gobber was sure it was the best sleep he'd had in years. The only drawback about it, he would reflect philosophically, was that he'd woken up with a terrible terror slobbering all over the side of his face. Berk was changing, alright. Dragons, dragon-riding vikings, end of the war… But perhaps the first change on Gobber's mind was plans for a new terror-proof fence around his bedchambers.

* * *

It'd been a week and a half since everyone had returned, and Hiccup still hadn't woken up. The ice that had been threatening to show for months finally set in in earnest, and Hiccup slept through Berk's first snow of the winter. But vikings were hardly unused to cold weather, and if not for the the shockingly white backdrop, no one might've guessed that life in Berk had changed. Well, except for the dragons. Although none of them seemed genuinely threatened by the cold, everyone noticed how they huddled together, didn't move as much, beat their wings and breathed fire to keep warm as they adjusted to a new winter. They settled down and didn't wander, and the lack of activity gave Gobber a chance to draw his attention away from integrating a flock of dragons into the village and onto to something he'd nearly forgotten about.

He'd laid out Toothless' ruined flying gear in his forge soon after they'd returned home. It was still mostly intact, but was torn and had bits missing and mangled. Gobber hadn't had a chance to have a good look at the thing, but now he was eying the thing carefully, examining its make and wondering how, _when_ Hiccup had put it all together.

The saddle was scraps, reject leather - thin and ugly but technically functional. The metal was recycled steel, stock from old shields and swords, probably. (he had been _wondering_ why the armory looked skimpier than normal) But, slapdash and low-quality as the materials were, the workmanship was precise and clean, and so very _Hiccup_.

"Ach, lad…" Gobber shook his head, brushing his hands over the saddle and rubbing leathery soot between finger and thumb, "you were always bound to upstage this old coot. Sneaky devil." Gobber surveyed the contraption again and gave a disbelieving chuckle. He glanced to the back of his shop, to the room he'd given to Hiccup years ago. It was little more than a closet, and Gobber couldn't remember the last time he'd been inside, if only because he was too big, (nothing said about Hiccup's hoarding habits and surprisingly aggressive sense of personal space) but Hiccup had spent nearly eight years making it his own. Gobber figured that if Hiccup had drawn up plans for Toothless' tail – which he would have, if he'd learned anything from eight years of blacksmithing – they would be somewhere in his workroom.

Quietly, Gobber hobbled over and lifted the curtain to the room. It was messy, of course, but when Gobber turned to look at the desk and the papers that sprawled over it, he froze, and his face cleared. Stepping fully into the room, Gobber reached out to scan through the pages, his jaw slowly falling open.

* * *

Stoick was eating lunch, and felt strange about it because his son was still lying in bed, unconscious, not five steps away.

Hiccup had barely stirred since they'd ushered him back to Berk ten days ago. It was horrible to see him like this, pale, hurt, broken. But life had to go on. Hiccup was alive, he just wasn't… back. Stoick made himself believe that he _would _be back, if only so he didn't drive himself mad.

"His body is trying to buy itself some time," Thorn had told Stoick the first several days, "shut itself down for a while to do repairs. Like a ship locked in the moors. Hiccup's a small lad, injuries this big are serious for him, Not insurmountable, mind you, just… hard. He'll be okay, Stoick, he really will." That was five days ago. Now, however, whenever Thorn came to visit and check up on Hiccup, he'd been revising his diagnosis. Not so much as it pertained to an eventual recovery, but Stoick had begun to hear the word 'coma' whispered in with Thorn's mutterings. He hadn't said anything outright to the chief yet, so apparently he had yet to draw final conclusions. But the word made Stoick worry. A doctor he was not, but Stoick Haddock knew what a coma was. He knew that men fell into deep sleeps after a hit to the head, a hard illness, a touch of old-age madness. He knew that sometimes, they never woke up again. He wouldn't allow himself to think past that point, for fear of the mere thought bringing some curse down upon Hiccup's head.

Stoick had told Thorn, Gobber, and those closest to him about how Hiccup had woken up and spoken to him the night that the vikings returned. Gobber believed him, of course, but Thorn was having a hard time rationalizing it with the boy's current comatose state. For Hiccup to wake up – much less in a coherent, talkative, conscious state, was a wondrous sign. But the fact that it had happened just as his fever broke – when he should have still been delusional, and the fact that he hadn't woken up for over a week afterwards, made it all seem almost like a miracle. Thorn was scratching his head so hard, Stoick almost felt that he'd dreamed the whole thing.

But no. Hiccup had spoken with Val's words. Stoick would never doubt the word of his wife, in Midgard or Valhalla. In fact, Stoick realized with a feeling of newness, he was beginning to think that he would never doubt the word of his son, either.

There was a knock on his door. Wiping his mouth, Stoick turned toward the door. "Come in," He called, figuring it was Thorn or Gothi, or maybe Astrid. None of them had come by recently, and were due for another visit sometime soon. It wasn't any of them. It was Gobber.

"Stoick," Gobber said, poking his head in and speaking with an unusually serious – but not really _urgent_ air, "You need to see this."

* * *

Stoick stood there for a while, not saying anything, just looking around. He'd never seen the place in full light, his son's workroom. He'd seen it once or twice by candlelight, but he never paid any attention to what was in it, anyway. Gobber had opened the windows and allowed the sunlight to come pouring in.

Everywhere, there were drawings. Models. Tools. Pencils. Brushes. And while some of it was the slapdash, messy stuff that Stoick vaguely remembered seeing strewn around Hiccup's room when he was younger, most of it was orderly, neat. There was a sense of budding mastery in what he was looking at, even Stoick's untrained eyes could see. There were diagrams and plans, blueprints of complicated machines that he'd never seen before, most of which hadn't been built. He noticed that there was a stack of what looked like war machines thrown off the desk and onto the floor to collect dust. In their place, in the middle of the desk, was a pile of papers, but they weren't just designs, or plans. They were drawings.

Toothless.

A night fury, in perhaps the most varied of poses and situations that Stoick would have been able to imagine. Toothless looked more playful and personable than Stoick had ever seen him, and he suddenly got the impression of history, of unseen time spent between his son and that dragon, where Hiccup had become the first Viking to glimpse anything like _this_. Toothless chased a butterfly in one sketch, in another, he was curled up in a near perfect circle as he slept. His neck twisted, ear plates sat unevenly, he arched his back, stretched his wings, pounced. Never once, in the drawings, was Toothless flying. Then, Stoick uncovered the largest sketch of them all, at the bottom.

There they were, Toothless and Hiccup, together, mid-flight. It looked like a piece of art, but Stoick realized after a moment that it was actually a technical design. The most detailed part of the drawing wasn't the dragon or his rider, but rather, the thing that connected them, the saddle, with all its loops and straps and gears and pulls. Stoick was staring, trying to imagine his son sitting up at long nights putting the idea on paper.

"Hiccup… he drew… he _made_ this?" Stoick pointed. Gobber moved, and hauled up Toothless' ruined saddle from behind him.

"Aye," he said, his voice somewhere between bewilderment and pride. "Must'a made the whole thing under me nose, too, you know I have to keep a reign on what he does 'round here." He shook his head. "But look a' this, Stoick," He brought the saddle around for Stoick to look at it, particularly the tail fin. It was mangled and burnt, but Gobber grabbed a vein of the tail and pulled around, demonstrating the movement that had stayed intact. The others joints were at least halfway welded shut, but the one that he held moved freely. "It moves 'round like tha' in all directions, no pins or ropes about it." Gobber handed it to Stoick and let the chief marvel at it for a moment before adding heavily, "I never taught him how to do that, Stoick."

Stoick shot him a look. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, _I _could'nea have done that if you'd asked me to. Your son designed that joint there himself – along with a half a dozen other bits on that saddle. It's not an easy bit of smithing, let me tell you, and if he can do _tha'_, I'd surely like to know where he learned it from. It was not from _me_." He glanced around at the workshop they stood in. "There might be dozens of things he's made up that I've never seen before. They could be just as amazing as that."

"Why didn't he show them to us? To you, at very least," Stoick said, looking at the tail, the sketches. Gobber looked somewhat ashamed.

"Well," He said, quietly, guiltily. "I reckon he did, at some point. I probably never looked hard enough."

Stoick immediately thought of all those… _things_, the contraptions that Hiccup had often used in his misguided attempts to help with dragon raids. Stoick also remembered how he had always tried to get Gobber to destroy the things before Hiccup could hurt himself. He wanted to make some comment of it all to Gobber, but he didn't think he could.

The blacksmith came around and brushed away some of the sketches to the edge of the desk, to expose one of the earliest ones there, a clean plan for Toothless' prosthetic tail. Complete with measurements, angles, joints, and leather seams.

"He dated this one," Gobber said, pointing to a small inscription at the corner. Stoick read it, and his eyebrows rose. "Over a _month_ before the end of dragon training," Gobber commented. "He was up to it all along, Stoick. And we never even noticed, no one in the whole island."

Stoick didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He brushed his fingers over the drawings, the designs, the sketches. Hiccups face wasn't in any of them, but he could see it through the strokes of the charcoal and ink. The way he used his left hand, the way he _always_ knew what something looked like, even if he'd never seen it before, because he hadn't built it yet. The way he just watched things. Just Hiccup, planning, dreaming. Hiccup's quirks had always been an annoyance to Stoick. They were oddball traits that Stoick didn't understand, and didn't try to because they usually created life-threatening situations. He supposed that the whole fiasco with Toothless was no different, but this time, Hiccup had come out on top, in a heroic way.

Stoick suddenly realized how sad it was that his son had to tame the wildest dragon, kill the biggest dragon, and lose his own leg for his father to finally, _finally_ notice what had been growing and maturing in his house for fourteen years. Hiccup, just Hiccup. He hadn't changed a bit. He'd been sitting here in a small room, just being _Hiccup_, for years, and no one had noticed until now.

In that moment, Stoick the Vast felt very, very small.

Gobber must've sensed something of the sort, because he nodded and stepped out of the room. "I'll leave you to it, then," He said gently, leg knocking against the floor in an uneven thump as he walked away.

"_We finally have something to talk about_," Stoick remembered saying to Hiccup the night before his final exam. It hadn't been true then, but Stoick thought it was now. They definitely had something to talk about, now. And it wasn't because Stoick understood it, not because father and son had become so similar again overnight. He didn't understand a thing about Hiccup's story with Toothless, about dragons, about what Hiccup saw in his head when he was designing. He didn't know, he didn't understand, he didn't see. But Stoick had finally decided that, when the time came, he would try. He'd never not _loved_ his son, not really. But Stoick had never realized how bad he was at showing it until now. Clumsy emotional oaf as he was, Stoick decided that he would try to understand, to listen, to have something to talk about.

Maybe that's why Hiccup was still sleeping. Maybe the gods had given Hiccup the rest for his body and for his father – for his body to heal, and for his father to find the right way to say _I love you_.

Stoick put the drawings all back in their places, and picked up Toothless wrecked gear. As he carried it carefully out to Gobber, he thought he felt the beginning of something, a spark deep in the back of his mind and maybe his heart. It was warm and quiet. In time, it would grow.


	5. Chapter 5

Winter had taken its hold, knotted its hands in deep, and was holding on tight with snow-white knuckles. Vikings were used to the cold, but they were still human. Even the best and the bravest were prone to get a little stir-crazy this time of year. Stoick was no exception, even if he had more excuse than most to get out of the house. He still had to attend to his chiefly duties, which never let down even for blizzards and wars. But then, 'wars' had recently been scratched off the three-hundred year-old Viking 'to worry about' list, so Stoick found himself spending more and more time sitting around twiddling his thumbs, trying very, very hard not to think about Hiccup.

He was still asleep. _Still_. Thorn was avoiding Stoick at all costs, the chief was convinced. He understood why, because the physician didn't have any answers to give. But Stoick sometimes allowed himself to grow angry with the man, if only because he was an easy target for his frustration and worry. As the weeks pressed on into colder and colder weather, Stoick moved Hiccup's bed closer to the fire and, during one three-day blizzard where even the shadows of the flames bit like ice, Stoick pulled his own bed out into the main room so he could tend to the fire all night and keep his son warm. Over time, Stoick's lounge chair had migrated from its normal spot at the head of the hall to the edge of Hiccup's bed. He would sit there for hours, thinking, eating, staring. He held Hiccup's warm hand to remind himself that his son was still alive. He tried not to think about when he might wake up.

Hiccup never grew stir-crazy like the rest of them, this time of year. He always had plenty of projects and strange crafts to keep him busy indoors. He complained of the cold occasionally, but never of the isolation. It was Stoick's yearly entertainment (and trial) to put up with his son's experiments and loud building projects echoing down from the loft. This winter, the house was painfully quiet. The racket that should've been giving him migraines was gone, and the silence was gnawing at his heart. He took Hiccup's hand and bent the boy's too-limp fingers, willing them to move on their own.

"Oh, Val," He breathed to his empty house, "you had him safe with you, and you gave him back to me. So why hasn't he come home yet?"

Naturally, there was no answer, so Stoick sighed and leaned back in his seat. He was surprised when, a moment later, someone knocked on his door. The someone didn't bother waiting for him to answer, and rushed inside, shivering loudly.

"Damn Jokul is havin' his fun today, that's a fact!" Gobber shook himself and brushed snow off a bundle he was holding. "I'll have to hang the forge itself out to thaw, soon." He hobbled over, red-faced and shivering, to extend both hand and stump toward the fire. A tuft of fur around Gobber's stump told Stoick that he'd padded the prosthetic warmly for the winter, but cold metal had a way of getting through even warm hides. He was constantly having to roast his fake arm to avoid giving himself frostbite.

"At least it's not a blizzard," Stoick said, and poured his friend a tankard of cider that he'd had warming by the fire.

"If it was a blizzard, I wouldn't have bothered coming up here at all," Gobber put his bundle beneath an arm and sipped at his cider. Stoick frowned fractionally.

"Why _did_ you come here, anyway?"

"To see my favorite Haddock, why else?"

"A bit early in the day for a drinking spell, isn't it?" Stoick said, even as he and Gobber both drank cider together. Gobber gave a chuckle when he put his tankard down.

"I wasn't talking 'bout you," he waved a dismissing hand at the chief and turned around. "I was talking 'bout him," He stepped to Hiccup's bedside and set down his things. He took a moment to stare down at his apprentice, and Stoick could see his shoulders fall just a touch. "…Still hasn't moved a hair," he said. Stoick didn't need to confirm it. Gobber sighed and pulled a chair over to the foot of Hiccup's bed, tossing the covers back.

"What are you doing?" Stoick asked, leaning to get a better look. Gobber had carefully pulled out Hiccup's stump, which Stoick had been trying rather hard _not_ to look at any chance he got.

"Oh, look at it, nearly all healed up, and he's slept right through it. Lucky bastard." Gobber shook his head and pulled out a long, segmented strip of fabric. "He may yet sleep until Freyr beats Jokul again, but he'll need to walk sooner or later." Gobber wrapped his measuring tape around what remained of Hiccup's leg. "I've made enough for myself to think I know what I'm doing," he said plainly, and Stoick realized that Gobber was fitting Hiccup for a prosthetic.

Unable to help himself, the chief looked down at Gobber's peg leg, which he could see beyond the legs of the chair. Something odd knotted in his stomach, because just _thinking _ about Hiccup wearing a fake leg made the injury seem so much more real. Sure, Stoick had seen it, in all its gore and _missing-_ness, and the stiches and blood and bandages, but the chief was only just realizing that this was not just a sickness to endure or a cut to heal. This was the rest of his son's life. Stoick made himself look at Gobber again and consider how even with two limbs gone, Gobber had never seemed anything but whole. Hiccup would be the same, he tried to comfort himself. He _would._

"Don't you think it's a bit… soon?" He asked anyway, standing and coming up behind Gobber and peering over his shoulder. True to what he'd said, the scar on the end of Hiccup's stump was healing well, still raw but growing smoother. However, from the end of his stump up to his knee, there remained half a dozen or so clearly visible scars from Toothless' jaws. In the years to come, Hiccup would grow into them, but never lose them. Stoick didn't know what he ought to have felt about them.

"No such thing, not with this. It'll take long enough to make one at all, much less one for _Hiccup_. He'll like it with all his quirks thrown into the designs. I've never understood how he does it all, but I thought I'd at least try for the lad. You know. After… all he's been through. Might lighten the news a bit, at first." And Stoick didn't know if he was imagining that throaty, tight tone in Gobber's voice. Between Hiccup and the matter of amputation, it certainly did hit close to home. Gobber cleared his throat. "And anyway, I need somethin' to do. With no war weapons to make and cold dragons trying to steal all the warmth from my forge, I need an excuse to reclaim my anvil." He jotted measurements down on a scrap of paper and began taking another.

Stoick watched Gobber work in silence for a while, wondering to himself how Hiccup would feel about all of this when he woke up. _Because he will wake up_, Stoick told himself, as had become his habit.

After a while, he put a hand on Gobber's shoulder in a grateful gesture. "I'll put more cider on to warm. Help yourself."

Gobber smiled. "And that's why I have _two_ favorite Haddocks."

* * *

Astrid was trying very hard not to seem like a restless person, but she was failing at it miserably. Everyone developed cabin fever these days to some degree or other, but Astrid was usually good about keeping hers in check. This year, no such luck. All winters involved waiting; waiting for the thaw, for the blizzard to pass, for it to warm up enough to fetch water without it freezing halfway to the door. But never before had Astrid had to wait on something like _this_. She didn't have to ask any of the adults to know that a sleep this long was unusual. She'd heard Thorn say 'coma' once (when she had definitely _not_ been eavesdropping at the Haddock hosue) and had pestered Fishlegs until he told her what it meant. He'd been nervous to tell her because he knew why she must've asked. He looked afraid that she might punch him, and she might've, but Astird knew he was just as worried about Hiccup as she was, so she'd only sighed and left him alone.

She wasn't sure how often she'd begun asking after Hiccup before people started teasing her for it. Ruffnut was first, but it wasn't confined only to the teens. Her own mother like jibbing her daughter over her sudden and undeniable interest in the Haddock boy, and even the thought made Astrid scowl.

It'd taken her a while to figure out why she cared about Hiccup. She'd never _hated_ him, not really. She'd never joined the twins and Snotlout in their teasing. But she'd never really gotten to know Hiccup before… well, before everything changed.

And perhaps that was the crux of Astrid's situation. Everything was changing. Berk had always been everything to her: her family, her way of life, her future. She staked everything she cared about on the safety of her home, and since she was old enough to hold an axe on her own, she'd been determined to take hold of the Viking's war with both hands and see it through 'til her dying day.

And then, all of a sudden, there'd been a Hiccup in her plan. Literally. And not just her plan, but the plan for all of Berk, because Hiccup had appeared and changed the world overnight. Astrid's core, her entire life, had been centered around keeping Berk safe from dragons, of learning to protect the land they'd fought so hard to keep for so long. But now, with dragons and vikings at peace, with nadders and monsters and terrors roaming free through the island, Astrid's core was frantically searching for a new footing.

The most immediate and promising foundation was Hiccup. It wasn't something she'd decided of her own mind, but rather something she realized that her subconscious had decided weeks ago. Hiccup was the one who'd overturned all of her expectations of what life on Berk would be like. He was the one who'd ended the war. He was the first Viking in three hundred years who wouldn't kill a dragon, the very first to ride one. And he, something deep in Astrid's gut told her, would be the future of Berk and the Viking way of life. And so, rooted to her home as ever, Astrid's core followed him.

Her mother and Ruffnut teased her that she was in love. The thought made her blush because she was a hormonal teenager, but she wasn't sure she believed them. She couldn't love Hiccup, not with how short a time she'd actually been on his side, actually seen him for himself. But she wanted to be his friend, of that she was now sure. She'd kissed him on the cheek before (although she hadn't been planning to) because she'd wanted to apologize and Hiccup seemed like the only Viking on Berk who needed a gesture so gentle to convince him of sincerity. So maybe it _looked_ like she had a crush on him. She didn't, she really didn't. But she wanted more than anything to be by his side when the future came riding in at his heels.

So she asked constantly after his health and his leg and whether or not he'd fluttered an eyelid until the entire _village_ was convinced she'd fallen head over heels. Embarrassed, she'd made herself stop asking so that people would shut up. The method worked, but of course, there was the unfortunate downside that she no longer knew what was happening with Berk's latest hero.

It made the cabin fever worse. So eventually, throwing all concerns of gossip to the winds, Astrid put on her furs and braved the biting cold all the way up the Haddock house. She would see for herself, to Hel with whatever Ruffnut and her mother would make of it.

She knocked a few times on the door, and was surprised when it wasn't Stoick, but Gobber who yelled out to her, "Come in!" It was cold, so she didn't hesitate. The blinding white of the snow left her vision dazed in the dark room, but after a moment, her eyes adjusted and she could see that Gobber was sitting by Hiccup's beside. A pencil stuck out of his mouth, and he was trying to simultaneously wrangle a measuring tape and Hiccup's leg.

"Ah! Astrid!" He said around his pencil, "Just in time, I need a few more hands. Come help me, would you?"

Astrid snuck closer, peeking over Gobber's shoulder. She wouldn't let him know how her stomach clenched when she saw Hiccup's stump. "What are you doing?" She asked.

"Taking measurements to build Hiccup here a new leg. Unfortunately, me hand isn't one to cooperate with this tape," He waved his left stump, which brandished a hammer today. "I can't hold his leg and measure at the same time. I lift it up, you wrap this 'round the base of his knee," he handed her the tape.

"Oh. Al-alright," She said, taking the tape. Gobber scooted his chair over so she had room to work. He lifted up the stump, and Astrid did as she'd been told. Her hands shook because she didn't want to somehow hurt Hiccup more. She couldn't stop staring at it. For whatever reason, Astrid began to remember all the times she'd seen Hiccup do something with his left foot, or both feet, and she wondered how he'd manage after he woke up. She relayed the measurement to Gobber and let him jot it down. Her eyes widened when she saw the scars near his knee.

"What are _those_?" She asked. Gobber turned to look, and his face turned somber.

"Toothless is the one who did it, you know."

Astrid frowned, because no, she _didn't _know. "What do you mean?"

"Hiccup's leg. It was _bitten_ off."

Astrid's hands moved involuntarily towards her mouth in surprise. "But… why? How do you know it was Toothless?"

"Night furies seem to have rather distinct bites." Gobber said, pointing to Hiccup's scars. "As for _why_, well, it's anyone's guess what happened after that demon went up in flames. Hiccup may not even remember. Unless you learn to speak dragon, it might be that no one'll ever really know what exactly happened." Gobber lowered the covers over Hiccup's leg. "There was enough bruises on both of 'em for it to have been a nasty fall. Toothless' tail was burnt to bits, so they couldn't have flown. Stoick and I both think they lost control, and Hiccup fell. Toothless caught him, by the leg."

Astrid was listening, mouth slightly agape. "But… he just… _bit it off_?"

Again, Gobber sighed. "Well, it sounds bad, but Thorn says it may be more complicated. Odin knows how, but apparently Hiccup snapped his leg bone before he fell. When Toothless caught him, there wasn't anything there to stop it coming off."

Astrid blinked rapidly at that mental picture, but nodded. After a moment of looking down at Hiccup, willing him to wake up and remember and tell them what had happened, she glanced around herself. "Where _is_ Toothless, anyway?"

Gobber pointed, and Astrid looked up to see Toothless dangling motionlessly in the rafters. She had to admit, it made her jump.

"Stays up there all day," Gobber said, "Sleeping, mostly. Watches Hiccup like a hawk when he's awake. Poor beast. Nearly as depressed as Stoick is, these days."

"Depressed?" Astrid asked. Gobber sighed regretfully.

"I shouldn'ta told you that. Understandable, though. His son's in pieces and won't wake up, and with no dragons to worry about anymore, he's got nothing to do but sit around in the cold and think about it." Gobber rose and gathered his things. "It'll be good for everyone whenever Hiccup decides to wake up. Spring can't come too soon." The smith moved toward the door. "I'm off to the forge. Stoick's away at the Hall. Stay as long as you want. Maybe you could get Toothless to wake up and eat something. Nice day then, Astrid," Gobber closed the door behind him with a thud. Astrid sighed. She looked down at Hiccup, and up at Toothless, and at Stoick's chair that'd taken a new home by Hiccup's head. The whole house reeked of guilt, and pain, and weariness. Astrid pursed her lips in thought, because it shouldn't be like this. Hiccup was a _hero_. They'd ended the war, they'd made peace with the dragons. Berk had just reached her highest point in generations, and her chief was wallowing in sorrow.

Winter or not, Astrid decided it had to change.

She did stay for a while. She found some of the smoked fish in the pantry and laid it out under Toothless' nose in the hopes that he'd smell it and wake up. She stoked the fire to make sure Hiccup would stay warm, and she even cleaned up the dishes that had been left out by the hearth. Eventually, she left the Haddock house with a determined look on her face, and went to find the rest of the teenagers.

* * *

"So wait," Tuffnut was giving Astrid a skeptical look, "You want us to throw a _party_ for a dead guy?"

"Hiccup is not dead," Astrid growled, because she'd already explained the difference between 'dead' and 'comatose' about a dozen times. "And yes, I do."

"If we're taking a vote, I think it's a wonderful idea," Snotlout said in the flirtatious voice that Astrid despised.

"Although, hosting a celebration for a hero who can't share his battle story at the feast _is_ pretty unorthodox," Fishlegs told them.

"Forget _his_ battle story," Snotlout said, "We have our own, you know."

"This isn't about _us_," Astrid said, "it's about _Hiccup_."

"…who is dead," Tuffnut said. Astrid rolled her eyes.

"You _like_ him," Ruffnut teased with a huge grin.

"This has nothing to do with _me_ liking him – it's about his father," She said, and finally got to the point.

"Uncle Stoick?" Snotlout seemed confused. "What, did he lose a leg, too?"

"No, stupid," Astrid spat at him, "his son has been unconscious for nearly two months – he's grown so depressed, I think he's forgotten that what Hiccup did was _worth_ something. I want throw a celebration so that we can remind him – and everyone else, what Hiccup has done for us. Waiting on him to wake up would just be an insult to the importance of his victory."

The teens were all quiet for a bit, before they started asking questions, one after the other. Snotout was first.

"Will there be free food?"

"D'you think Stoick will let us bring out dragons into the Mead Hall?" Ruffnut asked.

"I think it's a _great_ idea," Fishlegs grinned up at her.

"So… are you gonna bring the dead guy along too, or what?" Tuffnut asked. "And can I have his mead?"

Astrid rolled her eyes again, but this time, she was smiling.

* * *

And so, without letting Stoick know about it until the final stages, the teenagers planned a large celebration in Hiccup's honor at the mead hall. They roped adults into it as they went, first Helga, who would bake bread for the feast, and Hoark the woodsman who had the freshest cuts of meat on Berk. The teens personally saw to it that the Hall was cleared and scrubbed clean for the occasion, and although Astrid hadn't thought of it, after Gobber caught wind of the affair, he'd grown over excited and decorated the entire hall, too. They'd even managed to wake up Toothless from his hibernation the night of the party. Hiccup himself would not be present, but even in his comatose state, he'd been given gifts of new pillows, warmer blankets, and an aromatic herbal brew that Gothi said would strengthen his lungs, even as he slept.

Stoick, for the first time since anyone could remember, looked overwhelmed with gratitude. He'd been gobsmacked when he'd heard about the celebration, even though the teens had done nothing to keep it a secret. As Astrid had hoped, the gathering gave everyone an opportunity to express their thanks, their stories, and yes, their apologies over the recent war and everything that had to do with Hiccup.

At the end, where the hero was supposed to get up and talk about his battle stories and show off his scars, Astrid stood with the rest of her classmates. They'd rehearsed it at least a dozen times before tonight, to their dragons and to each other. One by one, they stood before their village and told everything that they'd never told before, about Hiccup in dragon training, of how he'd come up with the plan to ride to Dragon Island, how he'd organized the attack and saved them all at least once. (Even Snotlout admitted to that) They spoke and spoke, and it wasn't just about dragons anymore, but just _Hiccup_, being Hiccup, and how he would still be Hiccup when he woke up. Because he would, and he would hop on Toothless, leg or no leg, because his dragon was broken, too, and they would fly faster and farther and better than all the rest.

Near the end of the night, Astrid looked over and could've sworn she saw Stoick shedding physical tears. But he was smiling, and his tribe was laughing and smiling, too. They'd left an empty seat next to Stoick to signify Hiccup's temporary – but not permanent - absence. Presently, Toothless was trying to stuff himself into it so he could eat Stoick's leftovers. Astrid laughed at his antics, and when Stoick looked up, they meet eyes for a few seconds. Stoick nodded, and that's when Astrid knew that her plan had been a success. She smiled, cheeks warm with pride and a calm, satisfied feeling that no Viking had really felt in three hundred years.

Winter was deep in Berk. But the war was over, and they had reason to hope. They were halfway out of the dark.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I did make a quasi-Jack Frost reference in there, for anyone who was wondering.


	6. Chapter 6

"Alrigh'," Gobber huffed and straightened to stand with his hands on his hips. "There we are. What d'you think, Toothy?"

Toothless turned and stretched and actually _bounced_ with enthusiasm as he tested out his new flying gear. Gobber chuckled. Out of all the dragons, Toothless was perhaps the most animated, and it was fun to watch the fury when he was excited.

Gobber was, understandably, proud of his work. Not only because he'd used someone else's designs and pulled them off well, but because he he'd managed to improve them. Not in the mechanics, but the materials. Where Hiccup had used cast-off scraps before, Gobber had hand-picked every cut of leather, every piece of steel. The metal was even-colored and strong in the welds, even down to the buckles. There was thick leather on the seat, and softer leather on the bottom where it would rub against Toothless' scales. He'd paid special attention to the tail, opting to craft it out of oiled sailcloth instead of heavy leather. And the most expensive addition: (but he would never let Hiccup know how much he spent on it) He'd purchased Hal the Dyesman's best and brightest bottle of red dye to turn Toothless' tail into a beautiful streak of color against his black hide. It made Gobber smile, and the fact that Toothless loved it made Gobber smile wider.

"And here," Gobber said, coming forward to the only part of the saddle he'd actually redesigned, "this'll go in like so," He said, snapping Hiccup's prosthetic limb into place on the stirrup. He waggled it back and forth, and Toothless' tail extended with the movement. The dragon's earplates perked up and he glanced between the tail and the leg, sniffing. "What d'you think of that, eh? Think it'll work?"

Toothless gave a happy huff and licked the air in front of Gobber's face. The blacksmith smiled, and detached the prosthetic from the saddle. "Alright, then. I suppose I ought to go give this to the man himself, eh?" He gave Toothless a pat on the nose and left the dragon to test out the feel of his new equipment alone. Flipping the fake leg in his hand, Gobber turned to head up the hill toward the Haddock House.

It really _was_ unfortunate that Hiccup would lose the leg he used to steer Toothless' tail. But… in a way, it was fitting. Gobber wondered if he was the only one who'd noticed how Hiccup and his dragon were a matching pair, now. He wondered if he was the only one who felt sad, but touched about it at the same time.

He knocked on the door and let himself in without listening for an answer. When he opened the door, Stoick looked up, as did Spitelout, Phlegma, Aldric Hofferson, and several other village leaders.

"Oh, hello, didn't realize I was crashing a party," Gobber said, closing the door. Stoick lowered a tankard from his lips.

"We're all itching for the spring to finally come through to stay; company never hurt anyone," the chief said.

"Ach, true, that. I swear the gods _enjoy_ teasing us, what with warm weather yesterday and freezin' today – I wish they'd just pick a season to root for and stop the fuss." He shook his head and gestured with the prosthetic. Spiteloud cocked his head.

"What you've got there, Gobber?" He asked. Gobber looked down at the leg and flipped it again in his hand.

"Your nephew's leg, actually." And the two brothers' eyes lit up. "Finally finished it, came over for a fitting." He glanced at the others and chuckled. "Didn't realize we'd have an audience. Don't mind me, then," He said, and went over to Hiccup's bed. Stoick rose and followed him, and Spitelout watched moment before turning unaffected back to his drink.

Gobber bent over Hiccup's bed and threw the coverings off his legs. "Righty-o, lad, I'll teach you how ta do this later, but right now I just want to see what it looks like," He said, producing a length of thick, lined cloth wrapping. He wound it about Hiccup's stump in a crisscrossing way, and then slid the prosthetic over it. He secured the whole thing with a section of rope that fit into a groove carved around the top of the leg. "There we are. Not too bad, if I do say so myself." Gobber went around to Hiccup's feet and yanked on both, metal and flesh. He judged them to be just even in length, and nodded proudly.

"Well done, Gobber," Stoick said, patting his friend on the back. "And thank you."

"He'll be runnin' and jumpin' with the best of them, soon," Aldric smiled over at them, and meant it. Of all Berkians, Aldric Hofferson was as sincere and gentle as a Viking could hope to be. He himself was an amputee, his right arm cut off nearly at the shoulder.

"And flying, to boot," Gobber bragged, "I've finished up the saddle for that Fury o' his, and the foot'll work just as well in the stirrup as it woulda before."

"Aye, flying alongside the rest of our young hooligans," Phlegma put in, "I don't see how they do it, go up the sky like that – Spitelout, your son dragged you up in the sky yet?"

"Nope," The man wiped his face after a drink, "I might try it eventually, but right now it's enough for my nerves to keep up with the dragons on the _ground_, to say nothing of flying on one. But what about Stoick? He's the one who flew all the way to Berk atop a Nightmare,"

All eyes turned to Stoick, who left Gobber with a last slap on the back and rejoined the circle. "Riding itself is not that bad. Not too different from riding a ship, really – just with wings instead of sails. It's _looking down_ that's the real problem."

"Aye," Aldric said, "My Astrid's practically a dragon herself, for how much flying she puts in. She took me up, once, but at my age I don't have the stomach for it. But I know several people who've taken to the air without a problem, Astrid and her friends included, of course.."

"Speaking of Astrid," Phlegma sing-songed somewhat suggestively, "She's been spending quite bit of time up here, lately. For Hiccup, I think." A warrior she may have been, but Phlegma was not immune to gossip.

A sudden giggle that belonged to Gobber made them all look over to where the blacksmith fussed over his apprentice, but Gobber cleared his throat pointedly and carried on like nothing was amiss. Turning away from the distraction, Aldric and Stoick shared a look, and simultaneously shrugged their shoulders. Aldric reached for his tankard with a chuckle. "I may be her father, but Odin help anyone who tries to understand her mind. If she has intentions on your boy, Stoick, I wouldn't know either way about it. Gossip is hollow when no one can tell the truth.

Stoick only nodded, and glanced back at Hiccup. He knew Hiccup had been sweet on Astrid for years, since he first realized that she was a girl when they were nine. But Stoick would never be one to think too deeply on his son's affections and whether or not they were being returned, so he only shook his head with a chuckle.

"Well, we'll see what happens of them once he wakes up," The chief said, taking a long drink. The rest of the vikings murmured their agreement, because it had been the hope of the village that Hiccup would wake up sooner rather than later. The winter was nearly gone, and just as they watched for the grass to turn green and the blossoms to awaken, Berk watched their young hero, anxious for signs of life to return.

* * *

Ever since the feast held in his honor, Hiccup received more visitors than before. Perhaps it was because the winter weather wasn't quite as biting, perhaps it was because everyone had been reminded of all that he'd done, perhaps even because Stoick was wont to be in better moods these days. Whatever it was, rarely did a day go by when Stoick wouldn't have visitors over to sit by Hiccup, set new candles by his bedside, rearrange his pillows, move his comatose body around to stave off bedsores and stiff joints.

Mostly, it was the teenagers. Understandable, Stoick thought, after all they'd been through together. They usually came in pairs, whether the twins together, or Snotlout and Fishlegs, or any combination of the lot. Astrid came alone most of the time, and would quietly sit there for an hour or more. Never sullen, only thoughtful. Stoick would always frown when she left, because he could never quite figure her out.

One day, a bit to Stoick's surprise, Snotlout had appeared at his door alone, to see Hiccup. The chief hadn't had time to ask why, because he was headed down to the docks. The first taste of spring weather was finally here to stay, and it was task of all vikings to see to their ships after a long mooring.

Left alone in his uncle's house, Snotlout dropped the suave bravado that fit on like a second skin and looked around at the walls and beams with unease that he never let show when other people could see.

Eventually he found himself standing in front of Hiccup's bed, twiddling his fingers. Usually, when he came here, he had Tuff to talk with, or at least Fishlegs to tease and listen to. He felt too awkward in the silence, so he shrugged and said,

"Still asleep, I take it." It felt weird, because of course Hiccup wouldn't answer. "You know, usually when people talk to people who don't answer, it's because they're dead. Which… you're not. That's good, but… whatever." He sighed and scratched his head, feeling stupid. "Um, here. I, uh, well, my mom said this would be a nice thing to do, but she's a girl, so of course she would." He pulled out a small bundle of wildflowers, slightly crushed, and set them on the table sitting by Hiccup's bed. "Springs finally here, so, flowers. They smell nice, I guess. Mom thinks they're pretty. It's a girl thing. Except for Ruffnut. But… you know what I mean." He glanced around at the fire and the fur blankets. "I suppose your winter wasn't so bad, pampered as you are these days."

Snotlout stared down at his unresponsive cousin, and sighed again. He really, really wished that annoying twit would just wake up. He would die before admitting it, but Snotlout actually _missed_ that infuriating backtalk that Hiccup called sarcasm. It'd been too long since hearing his dry, here-comes-a-disaster voice, if only so Snotlout could verbally abuse him and push him around.

Glancing Hiccup up and down, Snotlout couldn't help but notice the unnatural shape beneath the covers. Gulping, he pulled back the covers and forced himself to look at Hiccup's leg.

Snotlout just didn't know what to feel about it. It wasn't that he really felt _bad_ for Hiccup, well, he did, but not… only. Snotlout had spent his entire life bragging that he'd be the best warrior, have the most scars, brag the most battles. But he'd_ seen_ Hiccup's leg, that first day. He'd seen what had happened, how horrible the ordeal had been. Looking at the leg now, cleaned up, healing, and fitted with a new prosthetic, it looked just like any other stumper's limb on Berk. And that bothered Snotlout, because he'd _seen_ it. He'd thought in years past that having something like it would be cool, a badge of being the best Viking, a battle-hardened warrior. _It's only fun if you get a scar out of it_. But he'd never grasped how _real_ such an injury would be until now, until it'd happened to someone his age. And it had to be _Hiccup_, the only one out of their hodgepodge group who could manage to look so _vulnerable_.

He didn't know how to feel about it, and he wasn't sure he would anytime soon, so as with anything else Snotlout had ever been unsure about, he decided to sneer and throw some half-hearted insults over it so he could think about it later. "You _would_ have to steel all the scars for yourself," He said, tossing the covers back over Hiccup's legs. "Chicks dig scars, y'know." He frowned at what he'd implied, and glared at Hiccup's comatose face. "Not that _you'll_ ever get all the chicks. You're still too skinny, I hope you know that."

After that, he ran out of things to say, so he wandered over to his uncle's kitchen and found something to cook over the fire. He sat near to Hiccup while his fish roasted, listening to the crackle of the fire and trying to avoid thinking about things that made him uncomfortable – all of them had to do with Hiccup.

He'd just begun eating when it happened.

A small noise made Snotlout's pause mid-bite, because it was a _human_ noise. He knew it wasn't himself, and there was no one else in the house, not even Toothless. He stared at Hiccup, but of course his cousin didn't stir. Slowly, he turned away and took another bite of fish. Then it happened again, and this time, when he turned to look at Hiccup, he could see movement below the blankets.

Fish and spit falling to the floor, Snotlout stood suddenly, and, after a pause, went to Hiccup's bedside. "H-Hiccup?" He asked, very tentatively, because he wasn't sure what was happening, or if this had happened before.

Hiccup let out another noise without moving his mouth, but this time, he tossed his head to one side, and Snotlout almost forgot to breathe. Hiccup's face turned toward him, and Snotlout could see his cousin's face contort, moving like it hadn't in three months, into an expression that might've been confusion, or pain, or possibly both. He moaned again, this time opening his mouth and trying to find words.

His cousin watched, frozen in place, completely unsure what to do. "Hiccup?" He asked, because was he _really_ awake, or in some kind of delirium? Snotlout wasn't a healer, he wouldn't know.

"Mmmghm…" Hiccup's voice was cracking and soft, "leg," he whimpered quietly. His eyes remained closed, but he curled slightly in on himself, his new prosthetic dragging audibly across the wood. "…why… leg," He said, mouth clumsy.

Snotlout had heard enough. Turning without a thought to his forgotten meal, he charged to the front door and ran down the steps. "Uncle Stoick!" He yelled, not knowing if the chief was near or far, "Uncle Stoick, Hiccup's waking up! He's waking up!"

* * *

Stoick stood over his son with a handful of others who had followed him back to his house, including Thorn, Gobber and all of the teenagers. Hiccup was no longer awake, but anyone who'd seen him recently could tell that he'd moved on his own, legs bent, head turned, face slightly pinched.

"I thought you said he was awake," Ruffnut said.

"He was," Snotlout insisted, "He was awake… sort of. He was talking at least,"

"He _what_?" Thorn whipped his head around to the Jorgenson boy.

"He… he spoke. Not _to _me, just…" Snotlout tried to explain,

"What did he say?" The healer looked excited.

"Nothing much, he mentioned…" Snotlout looked uncomfortable, "just mentioned his leg," He shrugged, and Stoick sent him a look of slight alarm.

"Well, thank Odin," Thorn said.

"What do you mean?" Astrid asked. Thorn straightened up and nodded at Hiccup.

"He was conscious, and speaking. And the fact that he knew something is wrong with his leg means there was no lasting damage to his nerves. A curse for him now, I suppose, but a blessing in the long run." The physician was smiling at his patient, finally hopeful.

"Will he wake up again soon?" Stoick asked. Thorn had to shrug, slightly deflated.

"Again? Yes. Soon? I don't know. It could be hours, or days, or weeks. He'll not just wake up one day, no worse for the wear. It's always a process with comas. But he _will_ wake up again, Sir, and again, and again, and each time he does, he'll be a little bit better, a little bit stronger. He looked over at Stoick and gave a strong nod.

Feeling tears in his throat but thankfully not his eyes, Stoick gave Thorn a slap on the back and nodded in return.

* * *

"Is it hurting him terribly?" Stoick asked, breaking the hour-long silence that had fallen between him and Gobber that evening. Gobber looked up.

"Eh?"

"His leg," Stoick said, watching his son as he had all day, "Snotlout said he mentioned it when he woke up. Does it hurt him very badly, even as it's nearly healed up?"

Gobber knew why Stoick chose to ask him, but he shrugged. "I can't say, really. Me hand hurt like hel itself for months after they took it off, but after my leg, I was up and at 'em within a week. It's different for everyone. At very least, he would be able to tell that something was _wrong_ with it. Missing. But it doesn't mean he's in agony," Gobber said encouragingly. Stoick nodded softly, unsure if he should be convinced.

Gobber watched his friend, who stared at his son like a hawk, before giving out a huff of laughter. "You going to watch him all night, then?"

Stoick turned a clear look on his friend, the look of a father who'd been waiting for three months and didn't need to give an answer now. Gobber nodded.

"Well, then, I'll be off to bed. Try to get _some_ sleep by morning, Stoick," He said, and left the Haddock house alone in the starry night.

The wee hours of the morning were fogging Stoick's brain when Hiccup woke up again. The small noises he made sent Stoick's heart into his throat, because he hadn't heard that timbre of voice in three months, and part of him, he'd been realizing, had resigned himself to never hear it again.

"Hiccup?" He called quietly, taking a small hand in his. "…Son?"

"Hggmmhmmn," Hiccup turned his head toward Stoick's voice, but he couldn't seem to clear his consciousness of whatever was keeping his face still and his mouth glued shut. Stoick could see those eyes moving beneath their lids, but Hiccup seemed still paralyzed from his long sleep and would not open them.

"I know they're green," Stoick said teasingly, brushing a calloused thumb across Hiccup's eyebrows, "Just like your mother's, so you don't have to hide them from me."

He waited several long minutes before Hiccup's breathing started to deepen, chest expanding, air hissing through his nose in a way that meant _awake_. Slowly, _very_ slowly, the firelight shone against the whites of eyes that'd been sleeping longer than winter.

"Dad?" Hiccup croaked, unable to move anything but his lungs and his tongue.

"Hiccup," Stoick smiled, hand squeezing his son's.

Hiccup watched his father's face sleepily, and Stoick wondered if he was dozing, or trying to wake up through his weakness. Eventually Hiccup nudged his hand just slightly farther into that of his father, and said, "Hi."

Stoick smiled again, inexpressibly happy to hear his son's voice. "Hi," he replied. Hiccup gave a twitch of a smile, and then fell slowly back to sleep, eyes sinking drifting closed, lungs reinstating the steady, slow breathing of before.

Shockingly calm and not even tempted by tears, Stoick put a hand on the side of Hiccup's face, which was losing its wakeful expression slowly enough for the father to savor it. _Hi,_ he'd said. _Hi. _Not goodbye. Just _hi_. Stoick held onto the word, because it always came at the beginning of something more.

"Hi," he whispered again, nodding and smiling. Carefully, he folded his son's arm back beneath the blankets.

* * *

A/N: I feel like I should explain myself at this point, as to why I chose to put poor Hiccup in a coma for three months. It's actually rooted in what happens in the movie itself.

Firstly, near the beginning, Stoick suggests they go out looking for the dragon next "before the ice sets in", implying that winter is almost upon Berk. So if winter is so close, thenwhy does Hiccup wake up at the end to a landscape that is so clearly green and summery? My explanation is that he literally _slept through the entire winter_ because of what happened. The time gap would also explain several other things: how Gobber had time to mend Toothless' gear, how the Vikings are already riding dragons and have built dragon houses for them. Most notably, it would explain how Hiccup is able to use his prosthetic for the first time without bleeding or collapsing completely. I mean, come on, he just _lost his leg_. If it were a matter of mere days, he probably would not be allowed out of bed, and he would not be walking with so little trouble. But if it'd had time to heal, for the most part... well, that makes slightly more sense.

Like I said, this is just my interpretation, but a few people have asked things like 'omg why did you put Hiccup in such a long coma' so I thought I'd share my logic on the topic.

Only a chapter or two after this one. Hope you all enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

Just like Thorn said, Hiccup would begin waking up more and more frequently after that first day. The time between his waking minutes shortened promisingly, first four days, then two, then one, then he was waking up nearly every day. He was weak, and confused, and usually didn't stay conscious for more than a few minutes. But he could talk, he recognized everyone, and seemed healthy enough. He was nearly driven to tears the time he woke up and Toothless was there, perhaps even more so when he realized that Stoick and Toothless were in the same house, and not attempting to kill each other.

He'd woken up six times, so far. Only once had he seen his leg. For days, Stoick had been trying to prep himself on how, exactly, he ought to explain what had happened. He couldn't imagine it, what Hiccup might think when he saw it. It was a huge injury, and not a fresh one, either. It was healed up and months old, just _there_, so different from the last time that Hiccup had looked at himself.

It'd been the first time Hiccup had attempted to sit up when he saw it. Stoick's heart had leaped into his throat when it happened, because he knew there was no way his son wouldn't notice. He didn't know what he'd expected from Hiccup. Crying? Maybe. Yelling, demanding questions, shock, screaming, tears, all of them seemed logical, given the situation. But Hiccup did none of the things Stoick might've guessed. Instead, he'd frowned when he felt it, and tossed back the covers. Then, he'd frozen, stared at it, eyes wide, just looking. Stoick thought about saying something, but Hiccup and drawn a breath first, and then slowly, resignedly, let it out again. Very slowly, he'd nodded.

"Oh," was all he'd said. He'd laid back down after that, trying to absorb everything with nothing but a wide-eyed, shocked expression. When Stoick had finally mustered the nerve to speak, he spoke only to realize that his son had fallen asleep.

Although Stoick still felt terrible about the leg, he'd breathed a huge sigh of relief after that day. If Hiccup could muster such bravery now, then surely, he'd adjust well over time.

As he woke more and more often, the only real concern Thorn had left over Hiccup was his memory, which was something of a puzzle. Hiccup could wake up one hour, talk with his father, go to sleep and wake up hours later, and have absolutely no memory of waking before. Every time he woke up was a clean slate. He'd ask the same questions, look just as tired and confused. He asked about his leg more than once, although he'd only seen it the one time. It had Thorn worried. Stoick was anxious about it, but also weary, because it meant explaining the same things over and over.

_Yes, Toothless is here._

_No, you're not dead._

_Yes, everyone made it out fine._

_It's been three months._

_I'm sorry._

The conversations that Stoick knew were necessary were painful enough on their own, let alone when he had to relive them four or five times. Eventually, he decided to give up on explaining until it was clear that Hiccup's memory would work properly.

The answer to the problem came after the second week. The teenagers were over more and more often these days, hoping to catch Hiccup at a waking moment, although it rarely happened. But once, he'd woken up while Fishlegs and the twins were present, and had carried a conversation with them for several minutes before falling back asleep. He woke up late that night. Stoick braced himself to explain things _again_, but then, Hiccup had looked up and around, frowning in confusion, but not of the kind Stoick had come to expect.

"Weren't… wasn't Fishlegs just here?" He asked. "And… twins…?"

"You remember?" Stoick sounded surprised.

"Somethin' like that, I thought…" Hiccup relaxed back on his bed again. "Oh well," he said, and fell asleep a few minutes later.

Unfortunately, he hadn't remembered _that_ the next time he woke, but it was the beginning of something more. Just like Hiccup began to wake more and more, then so would he remember more and more as he recovered from his long sleep.

"Dad?" Hiccup slurred from his bed, and Stoick turned. It'd been a day and a half since he woke this time, and the voice was as pleasant to hear as ever.

"Hiccup," Stoick came over. He was always calm, now, not uptight and terrified like the first few times. He put a hand on Hiccup's head to push back his fringe, which Stoick determined to make him trim once he was up to it. "How are you feeling?"

Hiccup frowned like it was a strange question, because he was only just now remembering the events that had landed him here, unconscious and feeling like Hel. "I… I'm in my house," He said, looking at the ceiling beyond Stoick's head. His father chuckled quietly.

"Yes, you're home."

"How… how did I get here?"

"I had a little help," Stoick allowed cryptically.

Hiccup blinked slowly. "I must'a got banged up," He said.

"You must have, just a little bit," Stoick said, and felt like a horrible person when he laughed.

"Hmm," Hiccup sounded like he wanted the conversation to keep going, but his eyes were beginning to swim around, focusing and unfocussing as they pleased. Stoick saw it and patted his hand.

"You just woke up. You going to leave again so soon?"

"Hmmm," Hiccup rolled his head around in an attempt to focus on his father's face. "Sleepy," he said, not realizing exactly how long he'd already slept.

"At this rate, you'll sleep in past lunch," Stoick joked. It was past dinnertime.

"Nah," Hiccup sighed, sinking slowly away, "I'm sure you'll make something bad enough that the smell will keep me up." He closed his eyes. "I prefer my own cooking, thanks."

Stoick looked mildly offended. "You've never told me that my cooking was bad before," He said. Hiccup frowned.

"Did I say that out loud? Oh…" He looked embarrassed and shook his head as if to clear it. "My brain doesn't seem to be quite awake," He confessed.

"I'd noticed," Stoick told him.

"Sorry… Hiccup began to apologize, but he was truly falling asleep, now. "Tired," Hiccup mumbled, but his mouth was trying to go to sleep, too, so it didn't truly sound like a real word at all.

"It's alright, go on back to sleep," Stoick said through a twinge of disappointment. Hiccup's breathing evened out and his head fell fully limp against his pillow as the last of his muscles returned to sleep.

"Love you," Stoick said quietly. He'd reiterated many things though Hiccup's many waking spells, but it was the one phrase, awkward and forced as it felt, that he'd determined to not give up saying until he could make it stick between them.

Sighing patiently, Stoick got up and went back to where he'd been preparing lunch over the fire.

* * *

Astrid had a problem.

Now, she was decently experienced in dealing with problems. She never asked for help because she never needed it. Even if she got a little scuffed up in trying, eventually, she'd always solved her problems on her own. But she'd never had to deal with a problem quite like this.

After Hiccup began waking up, there was always someone there to watch him, to talk to him for whatever few minutes he managed to stay awake. Stoick was the primary guardian, obviously, and Thorn. The teenagers all took their turns sitting by his bed, and they'd all said 'hello, welcome back' at least once. But out of the teens, it was actually _Ruffnut_ who'd been seeing the most of the Haddock house. Astrid wasn't exactly sure how often the twin visited Hiccup, but she mentioned him constantly and Astrid had seen her coming out of the Haddock's front door more often than anyone else. The girl was developing a major soft spot toward Hiccup. A fondness, even. Ruffnut _liked_ him.

And _that_ was Astrid's problem.

Astrid did not like Hiccup. She didn't, not like that. She had never had a crush on any boy she'd ever met, least of all on Hiccup. Now, contrary to whatever her mother believed, Astrid wasn't really _opposed_ to marrying, one far off day. But not now, and definitely not to any of the boys she knew, Hiccup included. Hiccup especially, because they probably knew each other least.

But then, after all that had happened, Astrid had seen something in him worth watching. There was _something _in Hiccup, undeveloped as it was, that told Astrid he was worth more than people thought he was. She was determined to see him grow into it, whatever _it _was, because while she still barely knew who he was, she'd caught a glimpse, and seen the future of Berk.

Astrid did not _like _Hiccup. But Ruffnut did not seem to have any qualms about liking him, or about not hiding the fact whatsoever. It shouldn't have made Astrid angry, but it did. It was just Ruffnut being Ruffnut, but it made Astrid mad. But w_hy,_ She asked herself. Why should she feel so... Frustrated?

She eventually had to admit to herself, alone and cursing, that she was jealous. No, not jealous, protective. She was feeling protective of Hiccup, because while she didn't like him now, a small part of her (curse it to Hel) told her that she just might, one far off day. That part of her told her to hang on to him and save him for later, once he was a man and not a boy, once she'd figured out what made Hiccup _Hiccup_ and once she'd figured out how to grow up, too.

She didn't like Hiccup, but she thought that she might, one day, and was subconsciously planning ahead. A part of her plan involved keeping Ruffnut's filthy mitts off of him.

"Ooh," the offending party came over to her where she'd been sulking all morning, "I know that look, who's gonna die this time?" Ruffnut bounced over to Astid's coastal perch and swung her legs over the tall docks, swinging her feet. "Is it Tuffnut? Because I will totally help you bash in his head if it is. We can hide the body."

Astrid found it suddenly very hard to say anything to the other girl, so like any good passive-aggressive female, she looked blandly ahead and asked, "What, you don't want to go spend the day sitting with Hiccup?"

Ruffnut frowned at her. "What about Hiccup?"

Astrid rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be an idiot – I know you _like_ him."

And of course, Ruffnut didn't care if Astrid knew it. "…So?" She asked.

Astrid sighed heavily and stood up. "Oh, nevermind," She growled, as annoyed with herself as she was with Ruffnut.

When Astrid got far enough away so she wouldn't see, Ruffnut smiled to herself and snorted. "You're such an idiot," she said, almost fondly.

* * *

Spring on Berk was finally, _finally_ here to stay. In the warm weather, the Berkians were able to harvest lumber from the woods and begin to rebuild the houses they'd lost in the very last raids. Gobber had even convinced Stoick to build new dragon roosts in the village center, and reinforce some of the houses to put perches on top. The dragons took to their new amenities well, and were growing more affectionate toward the vikings as the two former enemies learned to live together. Vikings learned to fly, and dragons learned to help the humans with their peculiar ways of life. A pack of terrors now made sure the baker's ovens were perfectly heated. Snotlout's nightmare, who he'd named Hookfang, helped lift the heaviest trees up for building. Gobber was experimenting with a nadder in his forge. They'd even converted the old torches into feeding troughs for the dragons, and there were flocks of them gobbing up fish by the basketful.

Berk was a busy place of late, because of the weather, the building projects, the dragons, the flying. It was so busy, in fact, that no one was there when Hiccup woke up. It'd happened before, of course. But no one knew that this time would be different.

* * *

He was groggy, more than anything. He'd woken up because he'd heard Toothness snuffling at him, as he often did when he wanted attention. He opened his eyes, blinking up at a scaly, big-eyed face that looked ecstatic to see him. Toothness lunged in and nudged him.

"Hey, Toothless," His voice was groggier than he'd expected it to be. He remembered the battle. He supposed he'd been knocked out at some point. He didn't remember. He remembered diving down from the huge dragon, then turning and Toothless firing, and then… well, maybe that was when he'd been knocked out. Toothless was licking at his face, so Hiccup chose to figure it out later. He chuckled, "Yeah, I missed you too, bud," Though he wasn't sure _how_ he was supposed to miss someone, he'd never really been gone.

Toothless got a bit _too _enthusiastic. He stepped on Hiccup's stomach, hard.

"Ow!" Hiccup sat up straight in bed – wait, bed? Not a cot? And… that was the wall. The wall of his house, the one with his grandfather's shield on it, and the hearth and rafters, "…what?" he asked the air. "I'm in my house," He said uncertainly. Toothless caught his eye, bouncing and licking the air with excitement. "_you're_ in my house," He realized with some alarm. It was too much for Toothless, apparently, and the dragon launched himself to bound around the room, knocking over the cooking frame completely, sending pots clattering loudly. "Does my dad know you're here?" Was all Hiccup could think of. "Toothless, no!" Of course Toothless ignored him, and leaped up to land on of the thick wooden rafters. "_Toothless!_" The dragon sent him an upside down look. "Oh, come on," He said, and moved to get up and stop his dragon.

And stopped.

Something felt weird. Something felt _off_. Frowning, Hiccup tossed back the covers of his bed. He couldn't really explain what emotions went through him next.

He heard Toothless land heavily on the ground next to him, but he couldn't react. His leg. His leg was… it… well. He brought his legs – leg? Over the side of the bed and let the new _thing_ strapped to his body touch the floor. He couldn't feel it. His legs were even and bent. One foot could feel the floor. The other…

He let out a huge breath and looked up at Toothless. Something deep in his gut was making him breathe too fast, so he had to make an effort to breath in, and out, slowly. _My leg is gone. My leg is gone. They took off my leg. It's gone. Dear gods, they cut off my leg._ It wasn't panic, not really. But then, what else? "Okay," He told himself, to make sure this was still reality. "Okay." He grabbed the end of his bed and stood, slowly, and set down his - well, what he assumed would be his _foot_ from now on, on the floor. It was unnerving, and unusually painful, to step and not feel it in his toes. Taking in a breath that he hoped sounded brave, he put his weight down.

The fake foot hit up on his stump wrong and every muscle failed him. He fell. Toothless was there, and Hiccup had never really realized that the dragon's head was big enough to hold him up until now. Toothless purred into him encouragingly and lifted him back up. "Okay," Hiccup told himself again, resolving that he _would not_ cry, and he would_ not_ hyperventilate. He swallowed back some of his shock, and focused on his hands (thank Thor he still had those) that held onto Toothless. He hobbled along on the foot that was still there, touching down tentatively with the one that was not. Toothless was a willing crutch, and put his wing around Hiccup as they shuffled to the door awkwardly together. "Thanks, bud," Hiccup told him.

He could see it was daylight outside, so Hiccup hauled open the front door to see if anyone was around. A monstrous nightmare appeared by the door, he screamed, and slammed it shut. He couldn't help it. It was a reaction that'd been engrained in him since birth. Still shaking away shock and grogginess, Hiccup looked at his dragon. "Toothless, stay here," he said, still feeling the need to hide and protect.

"Here we go!" He heard Snotlout, and had to look up at a monstrous nightmare to see him. He led out a small troop of dragons – no, dragons with _vikings atop their backs_, over to a pile of timber so they could haul up new logs. Dragons strolled about the village, flitted around heads, some even carried vikings on the ground. There was a huge roost of dragons in a… wait, was that a _house _for _dragons?_

"What?" Hiccup breathed, limping hard and balancing on his good foot as best he could. He was too busy looking around with his mouth hanging open to notice when Spitelout saw him, and smacked his brother's arm until Stoick saw, too.

"I knew it," He said to himself, "I'm dead."

Stoick's laugh boomed to his side. Hiccup wasn't yet aware enough to hear the hint of tears hidden deep in the sound. "No, but you gave it your best shot," Stoick put a massive hand around Hiccup's shoulders as a small crowd gathered around him. "So, what do you think?" He gestured to the village, which Hiccup was still ogling.

"Hey look!" Hoark called, dropping work from construction, "It's Hiccup!" An unexpected round of cheering followed. "Welcome back!" Some said, "you're awake!"

Hiccup wasn't sure _what_ to think. It was all so different. And so… beautiful.

"Turns out, all we needed was a little more of this," he heard his father say, and didn't know what to think when Stoick waved his hand up and down in front of him.

"But… you just gestured to all of me," and it wasn't sarcastic like usual, only surprise and confusion. It turned into inexpressible gladness when Stoick nodded, a slight shine in his eyes, and smiled.

Hiccup smiled back.

* * *

Astrid had been helping with the construction work when Hiccup appeared. Her stomach had unexpectedly flipped in her gut when she heard everyone cheering. She craned her neck to see, and, sure enough, there he was, fake leg and all, standing stunned and skinny and pale as he should be. An inexplicable anger filled her, because Hiccup had been the source of ridiculous worry and anger and emotional problems for weeks.

"Well, most of you," Gobber was saying as she came up the steps, "That bit's my handiwork, with a little Hiccup flair thrown in. Think it'll do?"

"Eh," Hiccup said dubiously, looking at his leg and trying very hard to swallow the lump in his throat that formed when he looked at it, "I might make a few tweaks."

The crowd laughed as Astrid elbowed her way to the front. She finally got to him, drew back a fist, and punched.

"Ow!" Hiccup lurched, and Astrid almost felt guilty, because he was still weak. _Almost_.

"That's for scaring me," She growled, because she had been scared, they all had. Even if he'd been fine for a while, now, he'd scared everyone half out of their skins, and he needed to know that.

"W-what, is it always going to be this way?"

And then, just then, as she was watching his face, the subconscious, future-planning part of her bypassed her brain's best filters and made her face scowl at him because yes, she'd decided, it would _always_ be this way. Just like this: she grabbed his shirt, yanked, and kissed him on the mouth.

The onlookers 'oohed' and 'ahhed', and she felt like kicking herself in the rear because she'd just done the stupid thing and confirmed all their ridiculous gossip. But then she pulled back and saw Hiccup's face and the stunt was almost – _almost_ – worth it.

"…I could get used to it," Hiccup said, and looked at her shyly. Her blush was roaring, and she almost wanted to take it back. _Don't get used to it_, she wanted to snarl at him. But then that stupid subconscious would want to add, _not yet, anyway_.

Stoick was standing aside, lips sealed and eyes alight with a determination to _not say anything_, but he almost wanted to laugh because Astrid looked so angry and Hiccup so dazed, and all he could think was _gods help you, son, you've picked a Valkyrie_. But Gobber broke the moment by producing Toothless' flying gear.

"Welcome home," the blacksmith said warmly. Hiccup caught the gear, and, once he realized what it was, broke into the biggest, happiest smile he'd smiled in years.

"Night fury!" Someone called, "Get down!" Because after 'staying here' for a few minutes too long, Toothless had abandoned orders and now bounded down the stairs from the house. He took a flying leap at Spitelout, knocking down vikings here and there until he finally got to the scrawny one he was looking for. He yawrled at Hiccup, earplates perked, eyes big in expectation. Hiccup, still smiling, looked between Toothless, and Astrid, who was laughing, to Gobber smiling, and his father standing to readjust his helmet with dignity, and back to Toothless, who stood among them, part of his life and not in danger. Inexplicably, tears formed in his eyes.

Home.

This was his home.

* * *

**A/N: **I was actually really torn about following the ending of the movie. I think the end hijacks a _world_ of character development, with how quicky and cheery and perfect it is. Now, don't get me wrong, I love the movie. But this was one of its shortcomings. I ended up letting sentiment win out and followed the movie. But I hope I've infused at least a little bit of my own character development into it, so it's not _quite_ so perfect.

The relationship between Hiccup and Astrid was really tricky. I wasn't sure how I was going to put it in here, especially once I decided to stick to what happens in the movie. I don't like their relationship in the movie because it basically takes everything great and deep about Astrid's character and dumps it out in the ocean so the Hero can Get The Girl. But that is a rant that's been given a lot, so I won't rehash it here.

I do hope I've at least done a passable job of making their relationship somewhat more believable here. I don't think I quite pulled off that kiss, but it's my own fault for deciding to stick to the movie.

ANYWAY hope you enjoyed! He's awake!

Should be just one more chapter, guys. Thanks for sticking around - I can't believe I'm actually finishing this thing!


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